A Farewell To Arms

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Mdli-

TO THE READER.

1 D L y_ use this book very
carefully, If the book is disfii^urcd
or marked or written on while in your
possession the book will have to be
replaced bv a new copy or paid for *
case the book be a volume , of set
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price of the whole set will be realized. •

Class No...

Book No..

. YL^S.^.

Acc. No...

A l-ARIiW 1:1-1.

TO ARMS

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VMS.- ,

First publisfud in • . 2929

Second impression Novefnher . • , 1929

Third imprcssioti November * • 2929

Fourth impression December . • .1929

Reissued in Florin Books . . ♦ 2932

Second impression Septentber. . • 1933

Third impression Noxtember * • ♦ 1933

Fourth impression April • • • 2934

F$/lh impression Nox'cntber . , • 1934

Published in Penguin Books July . . 1935

Second impression August . « 1935

Third impression October • « » 2935

Foufih impression March • • . 2936

Fifth impression August • . « 1936

Made and Printed in Great Britain for Penguin Books Limited
by Dutlex & Tanner Ltd.» Frome and London

None of the characters in this book is a living person,
nor are the units or military organizations mentioned
actual units or organizations.

E. H.

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library

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Accession No.

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library

Class No. _

Book No.. _

Accession No.

i' Ernest
Hemingway

is an American by birth but
spends a great deal of his
time on the Continent. He
is a devotee of bull-fighting
and wrote the classic on this
subject in * Death In the
Afternoon.’ His other publi¬
cations include ‘ The Torrents
of Spring.’ ' Fiesta,’ ‘ Win¬
ner Take Nothing’ and ‘Men
Without Women.’

^OOK ONE

CHAPTER I

In the late summer of that year we lived in a house m
a village that looked across the river and the plain to
the mountains. In the bed of the river there were
pebbles and boulders, dry and white in the sun, and the
water was clear and swiftly moving and blue in the
channels. Troops went by the house and down the
road and the dust they raised powdered the leaves of
the trees. The trunks of the trees too were dusty and
the leaves fell early that year and we saw the-.troops
marching along the road and the dust rising and
leaves, stirred by the breeze, falling and the soldiers
marching and afterwards the road bare and white
except for the leaves.

The plain was rich with crops ; there were many
orchards of fruit trees and beyond the plain the
mountains were bro\vn and bare. There was fighting
in the mountains and at night we could see the flashes '
from the artillery. the dark it was like summer
lightning, but the n^hts were cool and there was not
the feeUng of a slorm coming. .. r

Sometimes in the dark we heard the troops march¬
ing under the window and guns going past pulled by
motor-tractors. There was much traffic at night and
many mules on the roads with boxes of ammunition on
each side of their pack-saddles and grey motor-trucks
that carried men, and other trucks with loads covered
with c^vas that moved slower in the traffic. There
were big guns too that passed in the day drawn by
tractors, the long barrels of the guns covered with

green leafy branches and vines
laid over the tractors. To the north, we could look

see_aTorest of ch^tnut XltSS. .and
^o^r jmo^tam on this side ofjl^ river.

■9 ' “Ai''-

i

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

There was fighting for that mountain too, but it was
not successful, and in the fall when the rains came fhe
leaves all fell from the chestnut trees and the branches
were bare and the trunks black with rain. The vine¬
yards were thin and bare-branched too and all the
country wet and brown and dead with thp flntnmn
There were mists over the river and clouds on the
mountain and the trucks splashed mud on the roads,
and the troops were muddy and wet in their capes ;
their rifles were wet and under their capes the two
leather cartridge-boxes on the front of the belts, grey
leather boxes heavy with the packs of clips of thin,
long 6-*^ mm. cartridges^ bulged forward under the
capes so that the men, passing on the road, marched
as though they were six months gone with child.

There were small grey motor-cars that passed going
very fast ; usually there was an officer on the seat with
the driver and more officers in the back seat. They
splashed more mud than the camions even and if one
of the officers in the back was very small and
between two generals, he himself so small that you
could noF see his face but only the top of his cap and
his narrow back, and if the car went especially fast it
was probably the King, lived in Udine and came
out in this way nearly every day to see how things
were going, and things went very badly.

At the start of the winter came the permanent rain
and with the rain came the cholera. But it was
checked and in the end only seven thousand -died 'Of it
in the army.

CHAPTER II

The next year there were many victories. The
mountain that was beyond the valley and tl^e hillside
where the chestnut forest grew was captured and there
were victories beyond the plain on the plateau to the
south and we crossed the river in August and lived in
a house in^orizia that had a fountain and many thick

>*• '

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

shady trees in a walled garden and a wistaria vine
purple on the side of the house." Now the fighting was
in the next mountains beyond and was not a mile
away. The town was very nice and our house was
very fine. The river ran behind us and the town had
been captured very handsomely but the mountains
beyond it could not be taken and I was very glad the
Austrians seemed to want to come back to the town
some time, if the war should end, because they did
not bombard it to destroy it but only a little in a
military way. People lived on in -it and there were
^ hospit^ and cafes and artillery up side streets and two
bawdy-houses, one for troops and one for officers, and
with the end of the summer, the cool nights, the fight¬
ing in the mountains beyond the town, the shell-
marked iron of the railway bridge, the smashed tunnel
by the river where the fighting had been, the trees
around the square and the long avenue of trees that
led to the square ; these with there being girls in the
town, the King passing in his motor-car, sometimes
now seeing his face and little long-necked body and
grey beard like a goat's chin-tuft ; all these with the
sudden interiors of houses that had lost a wall through
shelling, with plaster and rubble in their gardens and
sometimes in the street, and the whole thing going
well on the Carso made the fall very different from
the last fall when we had been in the country. The
war was changed too.

The forest of oak trees on the mountain beyond the
town was gone. The forest had been green in the
summer when we had come into the town but now
there were the stumps and the broken trunks and the
ground tom up, and one day at the end of the fall
when I was out where the oak forest had been I saw a
Cloud coming over the mountain* It came very fast
•sand the sun went a dull yellow and then everything
was grey and the sky was covered and the cloud
c^e on down the mountain and suddenly we were in
was snow. The snow slanted across the
the bare ground was covered, the stumps of
trees projected, there was snow on the guns and there

11

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

were paths in the snow going back to the latrines
behind trenches.

Later, below in the town, I watched the snow fall¬
ing, looking out of the window of the bawdy-house,
the house for officers, where I sat with a friend and
two glasses drinking a bottle of Asti, and, looking out
at the snow falling slowly and heavily, we knew it
was all over for that year. Up the river the
mountains had not been taken ; none of the mountains
beyoiKl the river had been taken. That was all left
for next year. My friend saw the priest from our
mess going by in the street, walking carefully in the
slush, and pounded on the window to attract his
attention. The priest looked up. He saw us and
smiled. (^My friend motioned for him to come in."^ The
priest shook his head and went on. That night in the
mess after the spaghetti course, -which every one ate
very quickly and seriously, lifting the spaghetti on the
fork until the loose strands hung clear then lowering
it into the mouth, or else using a continuous lift and
sucking into the mouth, helping ourselves to wine
from the grass-covered gallon flask ; it swung in a
metal cradle and you pulled the neck of the flask down
with the forefinger and the wine, clear red, tannic and
lovely, poured out into the glass held with the same
hand ; after this course, the captain commenced picking
on the priest.

The priest was young and blushed easily and wore
a uniform like the rest of us but with a cross in dark
red velvet above the left breast-pocket of his grey
tunic. The captain spoke pidgin Italian for my
doubtful benefit, in order that I might understand
perfectly, that nothing should be lost.

" Priest to-day with girls," the captain said looking
at the priest and at me. The priest smiled and blushed
and shook his head. This captain baited him often.

" Not true ? " asked the captain. " To-day I see
priest with girls."

" No," said the priest. The other officers were
amused at the baiting.

" Priest not with girls," went on the captain.

12

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Priest never with girk." he explained to me. He
took my glass and filled it, looking at my eyes all the
time, but not losing sight of the pr^.

“Priest every night five against one.” Every
one at the table laughed. “ You understand ? Priest
every night five ag^nst one.” He made a gesture
and laughed loudly. fThe priest accepted it as a joke. J

“The Pope wants the Austrians to win the war,”
the major said. ” He loves Franz Joseph. That’s
where the money comes from. I am an atheist.”

“Did you ever read the Black Pigi “ asked the
lieutenant. “ I will get you a copy. It was that
which shook my faith.”

“ It is a filthy and vile book,” said the priest.

“ You do not re^y like it.”

“ It is very valuable,” said the lieutenant. “ It
tells you about those priests. You will like it,” he
said to me. I smiled at the priest and he smiled back
across the candlelight. “ Don’t you read it,” he said.

“ I will get it for you,” said the lieutenant.

"All thinking men are atheists,” the major said.
“I do not believe in the Freemasons, however.”

"I believe in the Freemasons,” the lieutenant said.
”It is a noble organization.” Someone came in and
as the door opened I could see the snow falling.

“ There will be no more offensive now that the snow
has come,” I said.

“Certainly not,” said the major. “You should go
on leave. You should go to Rome, Naples, Sicily - ”

" He should visit Amalfi,” said the lieutenant. “ I
will write you cards to my family in Amalfi. They will
love you like a son.”

“ He should go to Palermo.”

‘‘ He ought to go to Capri.”

/ I would like you to see Abruzzi and visit my
• family at Capracotta,” said the priest.

Listen to him talk about the Abruzzi. There’s

more snov^there than here. He doesn’t want to see

pea^ts. Let him go to centres of culture and
civilization.”

He should have fine girls. I will give you the

13

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

addresses of places in Naples. Beautiful young
girls — accompanied by their mothers. Ha! Ha I Hal”

He looked at the priest and shouted, ” Every night
priest five against one ! ” They all laughed again.

“You must go on leave at once,” the major said.

" I would hkc to go with you and show you things,”
the lieutenant said.

” When you come back bring a phonograph.”

” Bring good opera disks.”

” Bring Caruso.”

” Don’t bring Caruso. He bellows.”

” Don’t you wish you could bellow like him ? ”

” He bellows. I say he bellows I ”

*' I would Uke you to go to Abruzzi,” the priest
said. The others were shouting. “ There is good
hunting. You would like the people and though it is
cold it is clear and dry. You could stay with my
family. My father is a famous hunter.”

“Come on,” said the captain. “We go whore¬
house before it shuts.”

“ Good night,” I said to the priest.

“ Good night,” he said.

CHAPTER III

When I came back to the front we still lived in that
town. There were many more guns in the country
around and the spring had come. The fields were
green and there were small green shoots on the vines,
the trees along the road had small leaves and a breeze
came from the sea. I saw the town with the hill and
the old castle above it in a cup in the hills with the
mountains beyond, brown mountains with a little green
on their slopes. In the town there were more guns,
there were some new hospitals, you met British men
and sometimes women, on the street, and a few more
houses had been hit by shell-fire. It was warm and
like the spring and I walked down tlie alleyway of
trees, warmed from the sun on the wall, and found we

14

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Still lived in tKe same house and that it all looked the
same as when I had left it. The door was open, there
was a soldier sitting on a bench outside in the sun, an
ambulance was waiting by the side door and inside
the door, as I went in, there was the smell of marble
floors and hospital. It was all as I had left it except
that now it was spring. I looked in the door of the
big room and saw the major sitting at his desk, the
window open and the sunlight coming into the room.
He did not see me and I did not know whether to go
in and report or go upstairs first and clean up. I
decided to go on upstairs.

The room I shared with the lieutenant Rinaldi looked
out on the courtyard. The window was open, my bed
was made up with blankets and my things hung on
the wall, the gas-mask in an oblong tin can, the steel
helmet on the same peg. At the foot of the bed was
my flat trunk, and my winter boots, the leather shiny
with oil, were on the trunk. My Austrian sniper’s
rifle with its blued octagon barrel and the lovely dark
walnut, cheek-fitted, schutzen stock, hung over the two
beds. The telescope that fitted it was, I remembered,
locked in the trunk. The lieutenant, Rinaldi, lay
asleep on the other bed. He woke when he heard me
in the room and sat up.

“ Ciaou 1 " he said. “ What kind of time did you
have ? ”

“ Magnificent."

We shook hands and he put his arm around my neck
and kissed me.

" Oughf,” I said.

'* You’re dirty,” he said. ” You ought to wash.
Where did you go and what did you do ? Tell me
everything at once.”

” I went everywhere. Milan, Florence, Rome,
Naples, Villa San Giovanni, Messina, Taormina — ”

“You talk like a time-table. Did you have any
beautiful adventures ? ”

“ Yes ”

*; Where ? ”

“ Milano, Firenze, Roma, Napoli - ”

15

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ That’s enough. Tell me really what was the
best.”

“ In Milano.”

^ ” That was because it was first. Where did you

meet her ? In the Cova ? WTiere did you go ? How
did you feel ? Tell me everything at once. Did you
stay all night ? ”

" Yes.”

" That’s nothing. Here now we have beautiful
girls. New girls never been to the front before.”

” Wonderful.”

. "You don't believe me? We will go now this
afternoon and see. And in the town we have beautiful
English girls. I am now in love with Miss Barkley.
I will take you to call. I will probably marry Miss
Barkley.”

” I have to get washed and report. Doesn't any¬
body work now ? ”

“ Since you are gone we have nothing but frost-
! bites, chilblains, jaundice, gonorrhoea, self-inflicted
'1 wounds, pneumonia and hard and soft chancres.
T Every week someone gets wounded by rock fragments.
There are a few real wounded. Next week the war
starts again. Perhaps it starts again. They say so.
Do you think I would do right to marry Miss
Barkley — after the war of course ? ”

'' Absolutely,” I said and poured the basin full of
water.

” To-night you will tell me everything,” said
Rinaldi. ” Now I must go back to sleep to be fresh
and beautiful for Miss Barkley.”

I took off my tunic and shirt and washed in the
cold water in the basin. While I rubbed myself with
a towel I looked around the room and out the window
and at Rinaldi lying with his eyes closed on the bed.
He was good-looking, was my age, and he came from
Amalfi. He loved being a surgeon and we were great
friends. While I was looking at him he opened his
eyes.

” Have you any money ? ”

” Yes.”

16

A FAREWELL TO ARTOIS

“ I^an me fifty lire.”

I dried my hands and took out my pocket-book from
the inside of my tunic hanging on the wall. Rinaldi
took the note, folded it vrithout rising from the bed
and slid it in his breeches pocket. He smiled, ” 1
must make on Miss Barkley the impression of a man
of sufficient wealth. You are my great atid good
friend and financial protector.”

" Go to heU,” I said.

That night at the mess I sat next to the priest and
he was disappointed and suddenly hurt that I had not
gone to the Abruzzi. He had written to his father
that I was coming and they had made preparations.

I myself felt as badly as he did and could not under¬
stand why I had not gone. It was what I bad wanted
to do and I tried to explain how one thing had led to
another and finally he saw it and understood that I
h^ really wanted to go and it was almost all right.

I had drunk much wine and afterwards coffee and
Strega and I explained, winefully, how we did not do
the things we wanted to do ; we never did such things.

We two were talking while the others argued. I
had wanted to go to Abruzzi. I had gone to no place
where the roads were frozen and hard as iron, where
it was clear, cold and dry and the snow was dry and
powdery and hare-tracks in the snow and the peasants
took ofi their hats and called you Lord and there was
good hunting. I had gone to no such place but to the
smoke of caf4s and nights when the room whirled and
you needed to look at the wall to make it stop, nights
in bed, drunk, when you knew that that was all there
was, and the strange excitement of w'aking and not
knowing who it was with you, and the world all unreal
in the dark and so exciting that you must resume
I yagain u^nowing and not caring in the night, sure

i c ^ ^ ^ caring.

Su(Wenly to care very much and to sleep, to wake
I with it sometimes morning and all that had been there
I §0^® and everything sharp and hard and clear ^d
i sometimes a dispute about the cost. Sometimes still
pleasant and fond and warm and breakfast and lunch.

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Sometimes all niceness gone and glad to get out on the
street but always another day starting and then another
night. I tried to tell about the night and the
difference between the night and the day and how the
night was better unless the day was very clean and
cold and I could not tell it : as I cannot tell it now.
But if you have had it you know. He had not had
it but he understood that I had really wanted to go to
the Abruzzi but had not gone and w^ were still
1 friends, with niany tastes alike, but with the difference
! b^weeji -us. He h^ always known what I did not
know and what, when I learned it, I was always able
to forget. But I did not know that then, although I
learned it later. In the meantime we were all at the
mess, the meal was finished, and the argument went
on. We two stopped talking and the captain shouted,
“ Priest not happy. Priest not happy without girls.”

“ I am happy,” said the priest.

“ Priest not happy. Priest wants Austrians to win
the war,” the captain said. The others listened. The
priest shook his head.

"No.” he said.

“ Priest wants us never to attack. Don't you want
us never to attack ? ”

" No. If there is a war I suppose we must attack.”

“ Must attack. Shall attack ! ”

The priest nodded.

" Leave him alone,” the major said. " He's all
right.”

" He can't do anything about it anyway,” the
captain said. We all got up and left the table.

CHAPTER IV

The battery in the next garden woke me in the
morning and I saw the sun coming through the
window and got out of the bed. I went to the
window and looked out. The gravel paths were
moist and the grass was wet with dew. The

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

battery fired twice and the air came each time like a
blow and shook the window and made the front of
my gramas flap. I could not see the guns but they
were evidently firing directly over us. It was a
nuisance to have them there but it was a comfort that
they were no bigger. As I looked out at the garden
I heard a motor-truck starting on the road. I
dressed, went downstairs, had some coffee in the
kitchen and went out to the garage.

Ten cars were lined up side by side under the long
shed. They were top-heavy, blunt-nosed ambulances,
painted grey and built like moving vans. The
mechanics were working on one out in the yard.
Three others were up in the mountains at dressing-
stations.

“ Do they ever shell that battery ? " I asked one of
the mechanics.

“ No, Signor Tenente. It is protected by the
Httle hill.”

“ How’s everything ? ”

“ Not so bad. This machine is no good but the
others march.” He stopped working and smiled.
“ Were you on permission ? ”

” Yes.”

He wiped his hands on his jumper and grinned.
” You have a good time ? ” The others all grinned too.

” Fine,” I said. ” What’s the matter with this
machine ? ’ ’

“It’s no good. One thing after another.”

“What's the matter now? ”

“New rings.”

I left them working, the car looking disgraced and
empty with the engine open and parts spread on the
work-bench, and went in under the shed and looked
at ea^ of the cars. They were moderately clean, a
few freshly washed, the others dusty. I looked at
^e ty^ carefully, looking for cuts or stone bruises,
liverythmg seemed in good condition. It evidently
made no difference whether I was there to look after
things or not, I had imagined that the condition of
tne cars, whether or not things were obtainable, the

19

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

smooth functioning of the business of removing
wounded and sick from the dressing-stations, hauling
them back from the mountains to the clearing-station
and then distributing them to the hospitals named on
their papers, depended to a considerable extent on
myself. Evidently it did not matter whether I was
there or not.

" Has there been any trouble getting parts ? " I
asked the sergeant mechanic.

“No, Signor Tenente."

" Where is the gasolene park now ? ”

" At the same place."

'' Good," I said and went back to the house and
drank another bowl of coffee at the mess table. The
coffee was a pale grey and sweet with condensed milk.
Outside the \vindow it was a lovely spring morning.
There was that beginning of a feeling of dryness in
the nose that meant the day would be hot later on.
That day I visited the posts in the mountains and
was back in town late in the afternoon.

The whole thing seemed to run better while I was
away. The offensive was going to start again I
heard. The division for which we worked were to
attack at a place up the river and the major told me
that I would see about the posts for during the
attack. The attack would cross the river up above
the narrow gorge and spread up the hillside. The
posts for the cars would have to be as near the river
as they could get and keep covered. They would,
of course, be selected by the infantry but we were
supposed to work it out. It was one of those things
that gave you a false feeling of soldiering.
f I was very dusty and dirty and went up to my room
■ to wash. Rinaldi was sitting on the bed with a copy
of Hugo's English grammar. He was dressed, wore
his black boots, and his hair shone.

“Splendid," he ' said when he saw me. “You
will come with me to see Miss Barkley ? "

" No."

“ Yes. You \vill please come and make me a good
impression on her."

20

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“All right. Wait till I get cleaned up.”

“Wash up and come as you are.”

I washed, brushed my hair and we started.

“ Wait a minute,” Rinaldi said. " Perhaps we
should have a drink.” He opened his trunk and took
out a bottle.

“ Not Strega,” I said.

“ No. Grappa.”

“AU right.”

He poured two glasses and we touched them, first
fingers extended. The grappa was very strong.

“ Another ? ”

“ All right,” I said. We drank the second
grappa, Rinaldi put away the bottle and we went
down the stairs. It was hot walking through the
town but the sun was starting to go down and it was
very pleasant. The British hospit^ . w^-A. bis_ vjUS-
built . by Germ^s Miss Barkley was

in the garden. Another nurse was with her. We
saw their white uniforms through the trees and
walked toward them. Rinaldi saluted. I saluted too
but more moderately.

“ How do you do ? ” Miss Barkley said. “ You’re
not an Italian are you ? ”

“ Oh. no.”

Rinaldi was talking with the other nurse. They
were laughing.

“What an odd thing — to be in the Italian army,”

“ It’s not really the army. It's only the
ambulance.”

“ It’s very odd though. Why did you do it ? ”

I don't know,” I said. “ There isn't always an
explanation for everything.” , ; ^

I was brought up to think there/ i
was.'^ - - — ^ - ''

^ That's awfully nice.”

“ Do we have to go on and talk this wav ? ”

No,” I said. ^

That’s a relief. Isn’t it ? ”

“What is the stick?” I asked. Miss Barkley
was quite- tall. She wore ^Yhat semed to me to be

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

a nurse’s uniform, was blonde and had a tawny skin
and grey eyes. I thought she was very beautiful.
She was carrying a thin rattan stick like a toy riding-
crop, bound in leather.

“It belonged to a boy who was killed last year.”

" I'm awfully sorry."

“ He was a very nice boy. He was going to

marry me and he was killed on the Somme."

“It was a ghastly show."

“ Were you there ? "

“ No."

“ I’ve heard about it," she said. " There’s not

really any war of that sort down here. They sent me

the little stick. His mother sent it to me. They

returned it with his things."

“ Had you been engaged long ? ”

“ Eight years. We grew up together."

“ And why didn't you marry ? "

“ I don’t know,” she said. “ I was a fool not to.
I could have given him that anyway. But I thought
it would be bad for him."

“ I see."

“ Have you ever loved anyone ? "

“ No," I said.

We sat down on a bench, and I looked at her.

“ You have beautiful hair," I said.

“ Do you like it ? "

" Very much."

“ I was going to cut it all off when he died."

“No."

“ I wanted to do something for him. You see I
didn’t care about the other thing and he could have
had it all. He could have had anything he wanted if
I had known. I would have married him or anything.
I know all about it now. But then he wanted to go
to war and I didn't know."

I did not say anything.

“ I didn't know about anything then. I thought
it would be worse for him. I thought perhaps he
couldn't stand it and then of course he was killed and
that was the end of it."

22

1^0

FAREWELL TO ARMS

ti

it

“ 1 don’t know-."

"Oh. yes,” she said. "That’s the end of it.”

We looked at Rinaldi talking with the other nurse.
" What was her name ? ”

"Ferguson. Helen Ferguson. Your friend is a
doctor, isn't he ? ”

Yes. He’s very good.”

That’s splendid. You rarely find anyone any
good thi<; close to the front. This is close to the
fiont, isn’t it ? ”

" Quite.”

" It’s a silly front,” she said. " But it's very
beautiful. Are they going to have an offensive ? ”

“ Yes.”

“ Then we’ll have to work. There’s no work now.”
“ Have you done nursing long ? ”

" Since the end of fifteen. I started when he did.
I remember having a silly idea he might come to the
hospital, where I was. With a sabre cut, I suppose,
and a bandage around his head. Or shot through
the shoulder. Something picturesque.”

"This is the picturesque front,” I said.

" Yes,” she said. " People can’t realize what
France is like. If they did it couldn’t ail go on. He
didn’t have a sabre cut. They blew him all to bits.”
I didn’t say anything.

*' Do you suppose it will always go on ? ”

What’s to stop it ? ”

It will crack somewhere.”

We'll crack. We’ll crack in France. They
can t go on doing things like' the Somme and not
crack.”

"They won’t crack here,” I said.

" You think not ? ”

No. They did very well last summer.”
cra(^ crack,” she said. " Anybody may

The Germans too.”

.,_,_No,” she said. " I think not.”

• ^®nt over towards Rinaldi and Miss Ferguson.

’’ 23

ii

ti

it

it

ti

it

ti

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ You love Italy ? ” Rinaldi asked Miss Ferguson
in English.

“ Quite weU.”

'' No understand/’ Rinaldi shook his head.

“ Bastante bene,” I translated, He shook his head.

” That is not good. You love England ? ”

“Not too well. I’m Scottish, you see.”

Rinaldi looked at me blankly.

” She’s Scottish, so she loves Scotland better than
England,” I said in Italian.

“ But Scotland is England.”

I translated this for Miss Ferguson.

” Pas encore.” said Miss Ferguson.

“ Not reaUy ? ”

“ Never. We do not like the English.”

” Not like the English ? Not like Miss Barkley ? ”

“ Oh, that’s different. She's partly Scottish too.
You mustn’t take everything so hterally.”

After a while we said good night and left. Walk¬
ing home Rinaldi said, “ Miss Barkley prefers you to
me. That is very clear. But the little Scottish one
is very nice.”

“Very,” I said. I had not noticed her. “You
Uke her ? ”

“No,” said Rinaldi.

CHAPTER V

The next afternoon I went to call on Miss Barkley
again. She was not in the garden and I went to the
side door of the villa where the ambulances drove up.
Inside I saw the head nurse, who said Miss Barkley
was on duty — “ there's a war on, you know.”

I said I knew.

“ You’re the American in the Italian army ? ” she
asked.

“ Yes, ma’am.”

“ How did you happen to do that ? Why didn’t
you join up with us ? ”

24

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" I don’t know,” I said. ” Could I join now ? ”

” I’m afraid not now. Tell me. Why did you
join up with the Italians ? ”

“I was in Italy,” I said, “and I spoke Italian.”

“ Oh,” she .said. “ I’m learning it. It's a beauti¬
ful language.”

" Somebody said you should be able to learn it in
two weeks.”

“ Oh, I’ll not learn it in two weeks. I’ve studied
it for months now. You may come and see her after
seven o'clock if you wish. She'll be off then. But
don’t bring a lot of Italians.”

" Not even for the beautiful language ? ”

“ No. Nor for the beautiful uniforms.”

“ Good evening,” I said.

“ A rivederci, Tenente.”

“ A rivederla.” I saluted and went out. It was
iinpossible to salute foreigners as an Italian, without
embarrassment. The Italian salute . never... seemed
■ made Tor export. .

The day had" been hot. I had been up the river
to the bridge-head at jlava. It was there that the
offensive was to begin. It had been impossible to
advance on the far side the year before because there
was only one road leading down from the pass to the
pontoon bridge and it was under machine-gun and
shell fire for nearly a mile. It was not wide enough
either to carry all the transport for an offensive and
the Austrians could make a shambles out of it. But
the Italians had crossed and spread out a little way
on the far side to hold about a mile and a half on
the Austrian side of the i-iver. It was a nasty place
and the Austrians should not have let them hold it. I
suppose it was mutual tolerance because the Austrians
still kept a bridge-head further down the river. The
Austrian trenches were above on the hillside only a
few yards from the Italian lines. There had been a
Uttle town but it was all rubble. There was what
left of a railway station and a smashed permanent

ridge that could not be repaired and used because it
was m plain sight. /^“-n

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

I went along the narrow road down towards the
river, left the car at the dressing-station under the
hill, crossed the pontoon bridge, which was protected
by a shoulder of the mountain, and went through the
trenches in the smashed-down town and along the
edge of the slope. Everybody was in the dugouts.
There were racks of rockets standing to be touched
off to call for help from the artillery or to signal with
if the telephone wires were cut. It was quiet, hot
and dirty. I looked across the wire at the Austrian
lines. Nobody was in sight. I had a drink with a
captain that I knew in one of the dugouts and went
back across the bridge.

A new wide road was being finished that would
go over the mountain and zigzag down to the
bridge. When this road was finished the offensive
would start. It came down through the forest in
sharp turns. The system was to bring everything
down the new road and take the empty trucks, carts
and loaded ambulances and all returning traffic up the
old narrow road. The dressing-station was on the
'Austrian side of the river under the edge of the hill
and stretcher-bearers would bring the wounded back
across the pontoon bridge. It would be the same
when the offensive started. As far as I could make
out the last mile or so of the new road where it
started to level out would be able to be shelled
steadily by the Austrians. It looked as though it
might be a mess. But I found a place where the
cars would be sheltered after they had passed that last
bad-looking bit and could wait for the wounded to be
brought across the pontoon bridge. I would have
liked to drive over the new road but it was not yet
finished. It looked wide and well made with a good
grade and the turns looked very impressive where
you could see them through openings in the forest
on the mountain-side. The cars would be all right
with their good metal-to-metal brakes and anyway,
coming down, they would not be loaded. I drove
back up the narrow road.

Two carabinieri held the car up. A shell had

26

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

fallen and while we waited three others fell up the
road. They were seventy-sevens and came with a
whishing rush of air, a hard bright burst and flash
and then grey smoke that blew across the road. The
carabinieri waved us to go on. Passing where the
shells had landed I avoided the small broken places
and smelled the liigh explosive and the smell of
blasted clay and stone and freshly-shattered flint. I
drove back to Gorizia and our viUa and, as I said,
went to call on Miss Barkley, who was on duty.

At dinner I ate very quickly and left for the villa
where the British had their hospital. It was really
very large and beautiful and there were fine trees in
the grounds. Miss Barkley was sitting on a bench
in the garden. Miss Ferguson was with her. They
seemed glad to see me and in a little while Miss
Ferguson excused herself and went away.

“ rU leave you two,” she said. ” You get along
very well without me.”

” Don’t go, Helen,” Miss Barkley said.

“I'd really rather. Tmust write some letters.”

” Good night,” I said.

” Good night, Mr. Henry.*’

“ Don’t write anything that will bother the
censor.”

*' Dfn’t worry. I only write about what a
beautiful place we live in and how brave the Italians
are.”

“That way you’ll be decorated.”

That will be nice. Good night, Catherine.”
lU see you in a little while,” Miss Barkley said.
Miss Ferguson walked away in the dark.

“ She's nice,” I said.jpe

'' Oh, yes, she's very nice. She's a nurse.”

^ Aren’t you a nurse? ”

*'Oh, no. I'm something called a V.A.D. We
work very hard but no one trusts us.”

"Why not?”

«« don’t trust us when there’s nothing going

^ they trust us.”

What is the difference ? ”

27

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" A nurse is like a doctor. It takes a long time
to be. A V.A.D. is a short cut.”

” I see.”

” The Italians didn’t want women so near the
front. So we're all on very special behaviour. We
don’t go out.”

" I can come here though.”

” Oh, yes. We're not cloistered.”

“ Let's drop the war.”

"It’s very hard. There's no place to drop it.”

" Let's drop it asiywa.y”

" AU right.”

We looked at each other in the dark. I thought

unro:

her arm.

put my

" No,” she said. I kept my arm where it was.

" Why not ? ”

"No.”

“Yes,” I said. "Please.” I leaned forward in
the dark to kiss her and there was a sharp stinging
flash. She had slapped my face hard. Her hand
had hit my nose and eyes, and tears came in my eyes
from the reflex.

"I’m so sorry,” she said. I felt I had a certain
advantage.

" You were quite right.”

" I'm dreadfully sorry,” she said. " I just
couldn't stand the nurse's-evening-off aspect of it. I
didn’t mean to hurt you. I did hurt you, didn't I ? ”

She was looking at me in the dark. I was angry
and yet certain, seeing it all ahead like the moves in
a chess game.

" You did exactly right,” I said. " I don’t mind
at aU.”

" Poor man.”

" You see I've been leading a sort of a funny hfe.
And I never even talk English. And then you are
so very beautiful.” I looked at her.

" You don’t need to say a lot of nonsense. I said
I was sorry. We do get along.”

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Yes, I said. " And we have gotten away from
the war.”

She laughed. It was the first time I had ever
heard her laugh. I watched her face.

" You are sweet," she said.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes. You are a dear. I’d be glad to kiss you
if you don’t mind.”

I looked in her eyes and put my arm around her
as I had before and kissed her. I kissed lier hard
and held her tight and tried to open her lips ; they
were closed tight. I was still angry and as I held
her suddenly she shivered. I held her close against
couW feel her heart beating and lier lips
ope!!?a and her head went back against my hand and
then she was crying on my shoulder.

Oh, darling," she said. " You will be good to
me, won't you ? ”

What the hell, I thought. I stroked her hair and
patted her shoulder. She was crying.

„ 'vill, won’t you?” She looked up at me.

because we re going to have a strange life."

After a whQe I walked with her to the door of the

w^i • s^went upstairs to the room. Rinaldi
w^ lymg on his bed. He looked at me.

^ bo you make progress with Miss Barkley ? "

We are. friends."

T pleasant air of a dog in heat.”

1 ^d not understand the word.

Of a what ? ”

He explained.

who^^^" ^ pleasant air of a dog

say tiwuU-ina fv tt* ^ while we would

say insultmg thmgs." He laughed.

„ Good night,” I said. ^

^od night, Uttle puppy."

into the dJ?k^

candle, lit it and went on

29

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

CHAPTER VI

I WAS away for two days at the posts. When I
got home it was too late and I did not see Miss
Barkley until the next evening. She was not in the
garden and I had to wait in the office of the hospital
until she came down. There were many marble busts
on painted wooden pillars along the walls of the
room they used for an office. The hall too, that the
office opened on, was lined with them. They had
the complete marble quality of all looking alike.
Sculpture had always seemed a dull business — still
bronzes looked like something. But marble busts all
looked like a cemetery. There was one fine cemetery
though — the one at Pisa. Genoa was the place to
see the bad marbles. This had been the villa of a very
wealthy German and the busts must have cost him
plenty. I wondered who had done them and how
much he got. I tried to make out whether they
were members of the family or what ; but they were
all uniformly classical. You could not tell anything
about them.

I sat on a chair and held my cap. We were
supposed, to wear steel helmets even in Gorizia but
they were uncomfortable and too theatricaTin a town
where the exilian inhabitants had not been evacuated.
I wore one when we went up to the posts, and carried
an English gas-mask. We were just beginning to
get some of them. They were a real mask. Also
we were required to wear an automatic pistol ; even
doctors and sanitary officers. I felt it against the
back of the chair. You were liable to arrest if you
did not have one worn in plain sight. Rinaldi
carried a holster stuffed with toilet paper. I wore
a real one and felt like a gunman until I practised
firing it. It was an Astra 7-65 calibre with a short
barrel and it jumped so sharply when you let it off
that there was no question of hitting anything. I
practised with it, holding below the target and trying

30

to master the jerk of the ridiculous short barrel until
I could hit within a yard of where I aimed at twenty
paces and then the ridiculousness of carrying a pistol
at all came over me and I soon forgot it and carried
it flopping against the small of my back with no
feeling at all except a vague sort of shame when I
met English-speaking people. I sat now in the chair
and an orderly of some sort looked at me dis¬
approvingly from behind a desk while I looked at the
marble floor, the pillars with the marble busts, and
the frescoes on the wall and waited for Miss Barkley.
The frescoes were not bad. Any frescoes were good
when they started to peel and flake off.

I saw Catherine Barkley coming down the hall,
and stood up. She did not seem t^ walking toward
me but she looked very lovely.

“Good evening, Mr. Henry," she said. '

“ How do you do ? " I said. The orderly was
listening behind the desk.

“ Shall we sit here or go out in the garden ? "

“Let’s go out. It’s much cooler."

I walked behind her out into the garden, the orderly
looking after us. When we were out on the gravel
onye she said, “ Wh^ have you been ? "

“I’ve been out on' post."

“ You couldn’t have sent me a note ? "

“ No,” I said. " Not very well. I thought I
was coming back."

“ You ought to have let me know, darling."

We were off the driveway, walking under the trees.
I took her hands, then stopped and kissed her.

“ Isn’t there anywhere we can go ? "

No,” she said. “ We have to just walk here.
You ve been away a long time."

This is the third day. But Tm back now.”

She looked at me. “ And do you love me ? "

Yes.”

You did ^y you loved me, didn’t you ? "

. , Yes, I lied. “ I love you." I had not said it
before.

“ And you call me Catherine ? ”

31

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Catherine.” We walked on a way and we
stopped under a tree.

*' Say, ‘ I've come back to Catherine in the night.’ ”

” I’ve come back to Catherine in the night.”

Oh, darling, you have come back, haven’t vou ? ”

” Yes.”

” I love you so and it’s been awful. You won’t tro
away ? ”

" No. I’ll always come back.”

” Oh, I love you so. Please put your hand there
again.”

” It’s not been away.” I turned her so I could
see her face when I kissed her and I saw that her
eyes were shut. I kissed both her shut eyes. I
thought she was probably a little crazy. It was all
right if she was. I did not care what I was getting
into. This was better than going every evening to
the house for officers where the girls climbed all over
you and put your cap on backward as a sign of
affection between their trips upstairs with brother
officers. I knew I did not love Catherine Barkley nor
had any idea of loving her. This was a game, like
bridge, in which you said things instead of playing
cards. Like bridge you had to pretend you were
playing for money or playing for some stakes.
Nobody had mentioned what the stakes v/ere. It was
all right with me.

” I wish there was some place we could go,” I
said. I was experiencing the masculine difficulty of
making love very long standing up.

” There isn’t any place,” she said. She came
back from wherever she had been.

” We might sit there just for a little while.”

We sat on the flat stone bench and I held Catherine
Barkley’s hand. She would not let me put my arm
around her.

" Are you very tired ? ” she asked.

“No.”

She looked down at the grass.

“ This is a rotten game jye play, isn’t it ? ”

“ What game ? ’

32

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Don't be dull.”

“ I'm not, on purpose.”

“ You’re a nice boy,” she said. ” And you play
it as well as you know how. But it's a rotten
game.”

“ Do you always know what people think ? ”

“Not always. But I do with you. You don’t
have to pretend you love me. That's over for the
evening. Is there anything you’d like to talk about ? ”

" But I do love you.”

“ Please let’s not lie when we don't have to. I had
a very fine little show and I'm all right now. You
see I'm not mad and I'm not gone off. It's only a
little sometimes.”

I pressed her hand. “ Dear Catherine.”

” It sounds very funny now — Catherine. You
don't pronounce it very much alike. But you're very
nice. You're a very good boy.”

‘I That's what the priest said.”

” Yes, you're very good. And you will come and
see me ? ”

” Of course.”

“And you don’t have to say you love me. That's
all over for a while.” She stood up and put out her
hand. “ Good night.”

I wanted to kiss her.

“ No,” she said. ” I’m awfully tired.”

“Kiss me, though,” I said.

“ I’m a^vfully tired, darling.”

“ Kiss me.”

“ Do you want to very much ? ”

“ Yes.”

^ n 1^ * T , . . away suddenly. " No.

^od mght, please, darling.” We walked to the
aoor and I saw her go in and down the hall. I liked
to watch her move. She went on down the haU. I

orsrsA It wos a hot night and there was a

fl ^ mountains. I watched

the flashes on San Gabriele.

of the Villa Rossa. The shutters
p but it was still going on inside. Somebody

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

was singing. I went on home. Rinaldi came in
while I was undressing.

“ Ah, ha ! " he said. “ It does not go so well.
Baby is puzzled."

" Where have you been ? "

" At the Villa Rossa. It was very edifying, baby.
We all sang. Where have you been ? ”

" Calling on the British."

" Thank God I did not become involved with the
British."

CHAPTER VII

1 CAME back the next afternoon from our first
.mountain post and stopped the car at the smistamento
where the wounded and sick were sorted by their
papers and the papers marked for the different
hospitals. I had been driving and I sat in the car
and the driver took the papers in. It was a hot day
and the sky was very bright and blue and the road
was white and dusty. I sat in the high seat of the
Fiat and thought about nothing. A regiment went
by in the road and I watched them pass. The men
were hot and sweating. Some wore their steel
helmets but most of them carried them slung from
their packs. Most of the helmets were too big and
came down almost over the ears of the
men who wore them. The ofi&cers all wore
helmets ; better-fitting helmets. It was half of the
Brigata Basilicata. I identified them by their red and
white striped collar mark. There were stragglers
going by long after the regiment had passed — men
who could not keep up with their platoons. They
were sweaty, dusty and tired. Some looked pretty
bad. A soldier came along after the last of the
stragglers. He was walking with a limp. He
stopped and sat down beside the road. I got down
and went over.

" What’s the matter ? **

34

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

He looked at me, then stood up.

“ I'm going on.”

" What's the trouble ? ”

“ — the war.”

“ What’s wrong with your leg ? ”

"It’s not my leg. I got a rupture.”

"Why don’t you ride with the transport?” I
asked. " Why don’t you go to the hospital ? ”

" They won’t let me. The lieutenant said I slipped
the truss on purpose.”

“ Let me feel it.”

“ It’s way out.”

" Which side is it on ? ”

" Here.”

I felt it.

"Cough,” I said.

I’m afraid it will make it bigger. It’s twice as
big as it was this morning.”

" Sit down,” I said. " As soon as I get the papers
on these wounded I’ll take you along the road and
drop you with your medical officers.”

“ He’ll say I did it on purpose.”

" They can’t do anything,” I said. " It’s not a
wound. You’ve had it before, haven’t you ? ”

" But I lost the truss.”

" They’ll send you to a hospital.”

" Can’t I stay here, Tenente ? ”

"No. I haven’t any papers for you.”

The driver came out of the door with the papers for
the wounded in the car.

Four for 105. Two for 132,” he said. They
hospitals beyond the river,

drive, I said. I helped the soldier with
the rapture up on the seat with us.

You speak English ? ” he asked.

Sure.”

How you like this goddam war ? ”

Rotten.”

rotten. ^ ‘‘"s

" Were you in the States ? ”

35

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Sure. In Pittsburg. I knew you was an
American.”

” Don’t I talk Italian good enough ? ”

” I knew you was an American all right.”

” Another American,” said the driver in Italian,
looking at the hernia man.

” Listen, lootenant. Do you have to take me to
that regiment ? ”

" Yes.”

" Because the captain doctor knew I had this
rupture. I threw away the goddam truss so it
would get bad and I wouldn't have to go to the line
again.”

"I see.”

” Couldn’t you take me no place else ? ”

” If it was closer to the front I could take you to a
first medical post. But back here you've got to have
papers.”

” If I go back they’ll make me get operated on
and then they'll put me in the line all the time.”

I thought it over.

” You wouldn't want to go in the line all the
time, would you ? ” he asked.

” No.”

” Jesus Christ, ain’t this a goddam war ? ”

“Listen,” I said. “You get out and fall down
by the road and get a bump on your head and I'll
pick you up on our way back and take you to a
hospital. We’ll stop by the road here, Aldo.” We
stopped at the side of the road. I helped him down.

“ ru be right here, lieutenant,” he said.

“So long,” I said. We went on and passed the
regiment about a mile aliead, then crossed the river,
cloudy with snow water and running fast through the
spiles of the bridge, to ride along the road across
the plain and deliver the wounded at the two hospitals.

I drove coming back and went fast with the empty
car to find the man from Pittsburg. First we passed
the regiment, hotter and slower than ever : then the
stragglers. Then we saw a horse ambulance stopped
by the road. Two men were lifting the hernia man

36

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

to put him in. They had come back for him. He
shook his head at me. His helmet was off and his
forehead was bleeding below the hair line. His nose
was skinned and there was dust on the bloody patch
and dust in his hair.

“ Look at the bump, lieutenant ! " he shouted.
“ Nothing to do. They come back for me."

When I got back to the villa it was five o'clock and
I went out where we washed the cars, to take a
shower. Then I made out my report in my room,
sitting in my trousers and an undershirt in front of
the open window. In two days the offensive was to
start and I would go with the cars to Plava. It was
a long time since I had written to the States and I
knew I should write but I had let it go so long that
it was almost impossible to write now. There was
nothing to write about. I sent a couple of army
Zona di Guerra post-cards, crossing out everything
except I am well. That should handle them. Those
post-cards would be very fine in America ; strange
and mysterious. This was a strange and mysterious
war zone but I supposed it was quite well run and
grim compared to other wars with the Austrians.
The Austrian army was created to give Napoleon
victories ; any Napoleon. I wish we had a Napoleon,
but instead we had II Generale Cadoma, fat and
prosperous, and Vittorio Emmanuele, the tiny man
with the long thin neck and the goat beard. Over
on the right they had the Duke of Aosta. Maybe he
was too good-looking to be a great general but he
looked like a man. Lots of them would have liked
him to be king. He looked like a king. He was the
King s uncle and commanded the third army. We
were m the second army. There were some British
batteries up with the third army. I had met two
gunners from that lot, in Milan. They were very
lUce and we had a big evening. They were big and
shy and embarrassed and very appreciative together

?k happened. I wished that I was witli

the Bntish. It would have been much simpler. Still

37

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

I would probably have been kiUed. Not in this
ambulance business. Yes, even in the ambulance
business. British ambulance drivers were killed
sometimes. Well. I knew I would not be killed. Not
in this war. It did not have anything to do with
me. It seemed no more dangerous to me myself
than war in the movies. I wished to God it was over
though. Maybe it would finish this summer. Maybe
the Austrians would crack. They had always cracked
in other wars. What was the matter with this war ?
Everybody said the French were through. Rinaldi
said that the French had mutinied and troops marched
on Paris. I asked him what happened and he said,
“ Oh, they stopped them." I wanted to go to
Austria without war. I wanted to go to the Black
Forest. I wanted to go to the Hartz Mountains.
Where were the Hartz Mountains anyway ? They
were fighting in the Carpathians. I did not want to
go there anyway. It might be good though. I
could go to Spain if there was no war. The sun
was going do\vn and the day was cooling off. After
supper I would go and see Catherine Barkley. I
wished she were here now. I wished I were in Milan
with her. I would like to eat at the Cova and then
walk down the Via Manzoni in the hot evening and
cross over and turn off along the canal and go to the
hotel with Catherine Barkley. Maybe she would.
Maybe she would pretend that I was her boy that
was killed and we would go in the front door and
the porter would take off his cap and I would stop
at the concierge's desk and ask for the key and she
would stand by the elevator and then we would get
in the elevator and it would go up very slowly click¬
ing at all the floors and then our floor and the boy
would open the door and stand there and she would
step out and I w’ould step out and w'e would
walk down the hall and I would put the key in the
door and open it and go in and then take down the
telephone and ask them to send a bottle of capri
bianco in a silver bucket full of ice and you would
hear the ice against the pail coming down the

38

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

corridor and the boy would knock and I would say
leave it outside the door please. Because we would
not wear any clothes because it was so hot and the
window open and the swallows flying over the roofs
of the houses and when it was dark afterward and
you went to the window very small bats hunting over
the houses and close down over the trees and we

would drink the capri and the door locked and it hot
and only a sheet and the whole night and we would
both love each other all night in the hot night in
Milan. That was how it ought to be. I would eat
quickly and go and see Catherine Barkley.

They talked too much at the mess and I drank
wine because to-night we were not all brothers unless
I drank a little and talked with the priest about
Archbishop Ireland who was, it seemed, a noble man

and with whose injustice, the injustices he had received
and in which I participated as an American, and of
wliich I had never heard, I feigned acquaintance. It
would have been impolite not to have known some¬
thing of them when I had listened to such a splendid
explanation of their causes which were, after all, it
seemed, misunderstandings. I thought he had
a fine name and he came from Minnp5^a .wliich made
a lovely name: Ireland of Minnesota, Ireland of
Wisconsm, Ireland of Michigan. VVhat made it
pretty was that it sounded like Island. No, that
waOTt it. There was more to it than that. Yes,
father. That is true, father. Perhaps, father. No,
father. WeU, maybe yes, father. You know more

Jj. ^ father. The priest was good but
diUl. The officers were not good but duU. The King
was good but dull. The wine was bad but not dull It j

took the enamel off vour teeth and left it on thp rooT I
of your moutK 7

And the priest was locked up,” Rocca said, ” be¬
muse they found the three per cent, bonds on his
^rson. It was m France, of course. Here they

He denied all
the five per cent, bonds. This took
place at B^zires. I was tW and reading of it in the

.-39^

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

paper went to the jail and asked to see the priest.
It was quite evident, he had stolen the bonds.”

” I don’t believe a word of this,” Rinaldi said.

” Just as you like,” Rocca said. “ But I am tell¬
ing it for our priest here. It is very informative. He
is a priest ; he will appreciate it.”

The priest smiled. “Go on,” he said. “I am
listening.”

” Of course some of the bonds were not accoimted
for but the priest had all of the three per cent, bonds
and several local obligations, I forget exactly what
they were. So I went to the jail, now this is the
point of the story, and I stood outside his cell and
1 said as though I were going to confession, ‘ Bless
me, father, for vou have sinned.’ ”

There was great laughter from everybody.

” And what did he say ? ” asked the priest. Rocca
ignored this and went on to explain the joke to me.
” You see the point, don’t you ? ” It seemed it was
a very funny joke if you understood it properly. They
poured me more wine and I told the story about the
English private soldier who was placed under the
shower-bath. Then the major told the story of the
eleven Czechoslovaks and the Hungarian co^oral.
After some more wine I told the story of the jockey
who found the penny. The major said there was an
Italian story something like that about the duchess
who could not sleep at night. At this point the priest
left and I told the story about the travelling salesman
w’ho arrived at five o’clock in the morning at
Marseilles when the mistral was blowing. The
major said he had heard a report that I could drink.
I denied this. He said it was true and by the corpse
of Bacchus we would test whether it was true or not.
Not Bacchus. I said. Not Bacchus. Yes, Bacchus,
he said. I should drink cup for cup and glass for
glass with Bassi Fillipo Vincenza. Bassi said no that
was no test because he had already drunk twice as
much as I. I said that w'as a foul lie and, Bacchus
or no Bacchus, Fillipo Vincenza Bassi or Bassi
Fillipo Vincenza had never touched a drop all evening

40

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

and what was his name anj^vay ? He said was my
name Federico Enrico or Enrico Federico ? I said
let the best man win, Bacchus barred, and the major
started us with red ^vine in mugs. Half-way through
the \vine I did not want any more. I remembered
where I was going.

“ Bassi wins," I said. "He’s a better man than
I am. I have to go."

"He does really,” said Rinaldi. "He has a
rendezvous. I know all about it."

" I have to go."

Another night," said Bassi. " Another night
when you feel stronger." He slapped me on the
shoulder. There were lighted candles on the table.
All the officers were very happy. " Good night,
gentlemen," I said.

Rinaldi went out with me. We stood outside the
door on the path and he said, " You'd better not
go up there drunk.”

" I'm not drunk, Rinin. Really."

" You’d better chew some coffee."

" Nonsense."

"ru get some, baby. You walk up and down."
He came back with a handful of roasted coffee beans.

" Chew those, baby, and God be with vou.”

“ Bacchus," I said.

" m walk down with you."

" I’m perfectly all right."

We w^ed along together through the tovvn and
I chewed the cofSee. At the gate of the driveway that
led up to the British villa, Rinaldi said good night,
^od night,- I said. -Why don't you come

He shook his head. "No," he said. “I like
the simpler pleasures."

„ coffee beans."

Nothing, baby. Nothing."

I started down the driveway. The outlines of the
cypresses that lined it were sharp and clear. I looked

41

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

I sat in the reception hall of the villa waiting for
Catherine Barkley to come down. Someone was
coming down the hallway. I stood up, but it was
not Catherine. It was Miss Ferguson.

“ Hello,” she said. ” Catherine asked me to tell
you she was sorry she couldn't see you this evening.”

” I'm so sorry. I hope she's not ill.”

” She’s not awfully well.”

” Will you tell her how sorry I am ? ”

" Yes, I will.”

” Do you think it would be any good to try and
see her to-morrow ? ”

“Yes, I do.”

“Thank you very much,” I said. “Good
night.'

I went out the door and suddenly I felt lonely
and empty. I had treated seeing Catherine very
lightly, I had gotten somewhat drunk and had nearly
forgotten to come, but when I could not see her there
I was feeling lonely and hollow.

CHAPTER VIII

The next afternoon we heard there was to be an
attack up the river that night and that we were to
take four cars there. Nobody knew anything about
it although they all spoke with great positiveness
and strategical ^owledge. I was riding in the first
car and as we passed the entry to the British hospital
I told the driver to stop. The other cars pulled up.
I got out and told the drivers to go on and that if
we had not caught up to them at the junction of the
road to Cormons to wait there. I hurried up the
driveway and inside the reception hall I asked for
Miss Barkley.

“ She's on duty.”

“ Could I see her just for a moment ? ”

They sent an orderly to see and she came back with
him.

42

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" I stopped to ask if you were better. They told
me you were on duty, so I asked to see you.”

“I’m quite well,” she said. “I think the heat
knocked me over yesterday.”

” I have to go.”

” I'll just step outside the door a minute.”

” And you're all right ? ” I asked outside.

” Yes, darling. Are you coming to-night ? ”

” No. I’m leaving now for a show up above Plava.”

"A show? ”

" I don’t think it’s anything.”

” And you’ll be back ? ”

"To-morrow.”

She was unclasping something from her neck. She
put it in my hand. " It’s a Saint Anthony,” she
said. " And come to-morrow night.’

" You’re not a Catholic, are you ? ”

" No. But they say a Saint Anthony's very
useful.”

" I’ll take care of him for you. Good-bye.”

" No,” she said, " not good-bye.”

"All right.”

“Be a good boy and be careful. No, you can’t
kiss me here. You can't.”

"All right.”

I looked back and saw her standing on the steps.
She waved and I kissed my hand and held it out.
She waved again and then I was out of the driveway
and climbing up into the seat of the ambulance and
we started. The Saint Anthony was in a little white
met^ capsule. I opened the capsule and spilled him
out mto my hand.

'' Saint Anthony ? ” asked the driver.

Yes.”

” I have one.” His right hand left the wheel and
opened a button on his tunic and puUed it out from
under his shirt.

" See ? ”

L , Saint Anthony back in the capsule,

spiued the thm gold chain together and put it all in
my breast pocket.

43

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

You don’t wear him ? "

"No.”

" It's better to wear him. That’s what it’s for.”

" All right,” I said. I undid the clasp of the gold
chain and put it around my neck and clasped it.
The saint hung down on the outside of my uniform
and I undid the throat of my tunic, unbuttoned the
shirt collar and dropped him in under the shirt. I
felt him in his metal box against my chest while we
drove. Then I forgot about him. After I was
wounded I never found him. Someone probably got
it at one of the dressing-stations.

We drove fast when we were over the bridge and
soon we saw the dust of the other cars ahead down
the road. The road curved and we saw the three
cars looking quite small, the dust rising from the
wheels and going off through the trees. We caught
them and passed them and turned off on a road that
climbed up into the hills. Driving in convoy is not
unpleasant if you are the first car and I settled back
in the seat and watched the country. We were in
the foot-hills on the near side of the river and as the
road mounted there were the high mountains off to
the north with snow still on the tops. I looked
back and saw the three cars all climbing, spaced by
the interval of their dust. We passed a long column
of loaded mules, the drivers walking along beside the
mules wearing red fezes. They were bersaglieri.

Beyond the mule train the road was empty and we
climbed through the hills and then went down over
the shoulder of a long hill into a river-valley. There
were trees along both sides of the road and through
the right line of trees I saw the river, the water
clear, fast and shallow. The river was low and there
were stretches of sand and pebbles with a narrow
channel of water and sometimes the water spread like
a sheen over the pebbly bed. Close to the bank I
saw deep pools, the water blue like the sky. I saw
arched stone bridges over the river where tracks
turned off from the road and we passed stone farm¬
houses with pear trees candelabraed against their

44

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

south walls and low stone walls in the fields. The
road went up the valley a long way and tlien we
turned off and commenced to climb into the hills
again. The road climbed steeply, going up and back
and forth through chestnut woods to level finally
along a ridge. I could look down through the woods
and see, far below, with the sun on it, the line of the
river that separated the two armies. We w'cnt along
the rough new military road that followed the crest
of the ridge and I looked to the north at the two
ranges of mountains, green and dark to the snow¬
line and then white and lovely in the sun. Then,
as the road mounted along the ridge, I saw a third
range of mountains, higher snow mountains, that
looked chalky white and furrowed, with strange
planes, and then there were mountains far off beyond
all these, that you could hardly tell if you really saw.
Those were all the Austrians' mountains and we had
nothing like them. Ahead there was a rounded
turn-off in the road to the right and looking down I
could see the road dropping through the trees. There
were troops on this road and motor trucks and mules
with mo^tain-guns and as we went down, keeping
to the side, I could see the river far down below,
the line of ties and rails running along it, the old
bndge where the railway crossed to the other side
and across, under a hill beyond the river, the broken
ho^es of the little town that was to be taken.

It was nearly^ dark when we came down and turned
on to the road that ran beside the river.

%

CHAPTER IX

I™ crowded and there were screens of

^ on both sides and mat¬
tes or® at

bare deared space where the railway station had

45

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

- J > «V

been. The road here was below the level of the
river bank and all along the side of the sunken road
there were holes dug in the bank with infantry in
them. The sun was going down and looking up
along the bank as we drove I saw the Austrian
observation balloons above the hills on the other side
dark against the sunset. We parked the cars
beyond a brickyard. The ovens and some deep holes
had been equipped as dressing-stations. There were
three doctors that I knew. I talked with the major
and learned that when it should start and our cars
should be loaded we would drive them back along the
screened road and up to the main road along the
ridge where there would be a post and other cars to
clear tliem. He hoped the road would not jam. It
was a one-road show. The road was screcirfH" be¬
cause it was in sight of the Austrians across the
river. Here at the brickyard we were sheltered
from rifle or machine-gun fire by the river bank.
There was one smashed bridge across the river.
They were going to put over another bridge when
the bombardment started and some troops were to
cross at the shallows up above at the bend of the
river. The major was a little man with upturned
moustaches. He had been in the war in Libya and
wore two wound-stripes. He said that if the thing
went well he would see that I was decorated. I said I
hoped it would go well but that he was too kind. I
asked him if there was a big dugout where the
drivers could stay and he sent a soldier to show me.
I went with him and found the dugout, which was
very good. The drivers were pleased with it and I
left them there. The major asked me • to have a
drink with him and two other officers. We drank
rum and it was very friendly. Outside it was get¬
ting dark. I asked what time the attack was to be
and they said as soon as it was dark. I went back
to the drivers. They were sitting in the dugout
talking and when I came in they stopped. I gave
them each a package of cigarettes, Macedonias,
loosely packed cigarettes that spilled tobacco and

46

I

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

needed to have the ends twisted before you smoked
them. Manera lit his lighter and passed it around.
The lighter was shaped like a Fiat radiator. I told
them what I had heard.

*' Why didn’t we see the post when we came
down ? ” Passini asked.

“ It was just beyond where we turned off.”

” That road will be a dirty mess,” Manera said.

” They'll shell hell out of us.”

” Probably.”

” What about eating, lieutenant ? We won’t get
a chance to eat after this thing starts."

” I’ll go and see now,” I said.

“You want us to stay here or can we look
around ? ”

” Better stay here.”

I went back to the major’s dugout and he said the
field kitchen would be along and the drivers could
come and get their stew. He would loan them mess
tins if they did not have them. I said I thought
they had them, I went back and told the drivers I
would get them as soon as the food came. Manera
said he hoped it would come before the bombardment
started. They were silent until I went out. They
were all mechanics and hated the war.

I went out to look at the cars and see what was
going on, and then came back and sat down in the
dugout with the four drivers. We sat on the ground
with our backs against the wall and smoked. Out¬
side It was nearly dark. The earth of the dugout
was warm and dry and I let my shoulders back
agamst the wall, sitting on the small of my back
and relaxed.

” Who goes to the attack ? ” asked Gavuzzh
Bersaglieri."

” All bersaglieri ? ”

'* I think so.”

attaj"^^ enough troops here for a real

attention from where the

real attack will be.

47

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Do the men know that who attack ? "

“ I don’t think so.”

” Of course they don't,” Manera said. “ They
wouldn’t attack if they did.”

" Yes they would,” Passini said. ” Bersaglieri
are fools.”

” They are brave and have good discipline,” I
said.

"They are big through the chest by measurement,
and healthy. But they are still fools.”

"The granatieri are tall,” Manera said. This
was a joke. They all laughed.

” Were you there, Tenente, when they wouldn't
attack and they shot every tenth man ? ”

"No.”

"It is true. They lined them up afterward and
took every tenth man. Carabinieri shot them.”

" Carabinieri,” said Passini, and spat on the floor.

" But those grenadiers ; all over six feet. They
wouldn’t attack.”

" If everybody would not attack the war would be
over,” Manera said.

"It wasn't that way with the granatieri. They
were afraid. The officers aU came from such good
families.”

" Some of the officers went alone.”

"A sergeant shot two officers who would not get
out.”

" Some troops went out.”

" Those that went out were not lingd up when
they took the tenth men.”

" One of those shot by the carabinieri is from my
town,” Passini said. " He was a big smart tall boy
to be in the granatieri. Always in Rome. Always
with the girls. Always with the carabinieri.” He
laughed. "Now they have a guard outside his^-'i
house with a bayonet and nobody can come to see his
mother and father and sisters and his father loses
his civil rights and cannot even vote. They are all
without law to protect them. Anybody can take
their property.”

48

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

soldiers

it

a

” If it wasn’t that that happens to their families
nobody would go to the attack.”

“ Yes. Alpini would. These V.E.
would. Some bersaglieri.”

“ Bersaglieri have run too. Now they try to
forget it.”

” You should not let us talk this way, Tenente.
Ewiva I’esercito ! ” Passini said sarcastically.

“I know how you talk,” I said. “But as long

as you drive the cars and behave - ”

" — and don’t talk so other officers can hear,”
Manera finished.

“I believe we should get the war over,” I said.
“ It would not finish it if one side stopped fighting.
It would only be worse if we stopped fighting.”

“It could not be worse,” Passini said respect¬
fully. “There is nothing worse than war.”

Defeat is worse.”

I do not believe it,” Passini said still respect-
fuUy. “What is defeat? You go home.”

“ They come after you. They take your home.
They take your sisters.”

‘ I don’t believe it,” Passini said. “ They can’t

do that to everybody. Let everybody defend his

home. Let them keep their sisters in the house.”

They h^g you. They come and make you be a

soldier again. Not in the auto-ambulance, in the
mfantry.”

« can’t hang every one.”

outside nation can’t make you be a
^5, Manera said. “At the first battle you all

Like the Tchecos.”

anything about being
conquered and so you think it is not bad.”

'^ic Passini said, " we understand you let

Wf^ in There is nothing as bad as war.

W K auto-ambulance cannot even reahze at all

thZ bad it is

anything to stop it because they go
crazy. There are some people who never realize.

‘ 49

4t

U

44

44

41

44

There are people who are afraid of their officers. It
is with them that war is made.”

I know it is bad but we must finish it.”

It doesn’t finish. There is no finish to a war.”
Yes there is.”

V Passini shook his head.

yf " War is not won by victory. What if we take
p San Gabriele ? What if we take the Carso and
^^IWonfalcone and Trieste ? Where are we then ? Did
you see all the far mountains to-day ? Do you think
we could take all them too ? Only if the Austrians
stop fighting. One side must stop fighting. Why
don't we stop fighting ? If they come down into
Italy they get tired and go away. They have their
own country. But no, instead there is a war.”
You’re an orator.”

We think. We read. We are not peasants.
We are mechanics. But even the peasants know
better than to believe in a war. Everybody hates
this war.”

” There is a class that controls a country that is
stupid and docs not realize anything and never can.
That is why we have this war.”

” Also they make money out of it.”

“Most of them don't,” said Passini. “They are
too stupid. They do it for nothing. For stupidity.”

“ We must shut up,” said Manera. " We talk
too much even for the Tenente.”

” He likes it,” said Passini. ” We will convert
him.”

” But now we will shut up,” Manera said.

” Do we eat yet, Tenente ? ” Gavuzzi asked.

“I will go and see,” I said. Gordini stood up
and went outside with me.

” Is there anything I can do, Tenente ? Can I
help in any way ? ” He was the quietest one of the
four.

“ Come with me if you want,” I said, ” and we’ll

see.

Tt was dark outside and the long light from the
searchlights was moving over the mountains. There

SO

0

I" U

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

were big searchlights on that front mounted on
camions that you passed sometimes on the roads at
night, close behind the lines, the camion stopped a
little off the road, an ofl&cer directing the liglit and
the crew scared. We crossed the brickyard, and
stopped at the main dressing-station. There was a
little shelter of green branches outside over the
entrance and in the dark the night wind rustled the
leaves dried by the sun. Inside there was a light.
The major was at the telephone sitting on a box. One
of the medical captains said the attack had been put
forward an hour. He offered me a glass of cognac.
I looked at the board tables, the instruments shining
in the light, the basins and the stoppered bottles.
Gordini stood behind me. The major got up from the
telephone.

“ It starts now,” he said. " It has been put back
again.”

I looked outside, it was dark and the Austrian

searchlights were moving on the mountains behind us.
It was quiet for a moment still, then from all the guns
behind us the bombardment started.

"Savoia,” said the major.

"About the soup, major,” I said. He did not
he^ me. I repeated it.

" It hasn’t come up.”

A sheil came in and burst outside in the brick-
y^d. Another burst and in the noise you could hear
the smaller noise of the brick and dirt raining down.

What IS there to eat ? ”

"inf a little pasta asciutta,” the major said.

1 11 take what you can give me.”

to an orderly who went out of

*^ack with a metal basin
of odd cooked macaroni. I handed it to Gordini.
Have you any cheese ? ”

grudgingly to the orderly who

auartpr again and came out with a

^ a white cheese.

« V ^ very much,” I said,
xoud better not go out.”

1

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Outside something was set do^vn beside the
entrance. One of the two men who had carried it
looked in.

“Bring him in,” said the major. “ WTiat's the
matter with you ? Do you want us to come outside
and get him ? ”

The two stretcher-bearers picked up the man under
the arms and by the legs and brought him in.

" Slit the tunic,” the major said.

He held a forceps with some gauze in the end. The
two captains took off their coats. “ Get out of here,”
the major said to the two stretcher-bearers.

“Come on,” I said to Gordini.

“ You better wait until the shelling is over,” the
major said over his shoulder.

“ They want to eat,” I said.

“ As you wish.”

Outside we ran across the brickyard. A shell burst
short near the river bank. Then there was one that
we did not hear coming until the sudden rush. We
both went flat and with the flash and bump of the
burst and the smell heard the singing off of the frag¬
ments and the rattle of falling brick. Gordini got up
and ran for the dugout. I was after him, holding
the cheese, its smooth surface covered with brick dust.
Inside the dugout were the three drivers sitting against
the wall, smoking.

“ Here, you patriots,” I said.

“ How are the cars ? ” Manera asked.

“ AU right.”

“ Did they scare you, Tenente ? ”

“ You’re damned right,” I said.

I took out my knife, opened it, wiped oft the blade
and pared off the dirty outside surface of the cheese.
Gavuzzi handed me the basin of macaroni.

“ Start in to eat, Tenente.”

” No,” I said. “ Put it on the floor. We’ll all
eat.”

“ There are no forks.”

" What the hell,” I said in English.

I cut the cheese into pieces and laid them on the

52

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

macaroni. " Sit down to it,” I said. They sat
down and waited. I put thumb and fingers into tlie
macaroni and lifted. A mass loosened.

“Lift it high, Tenente.”

I lifted it to arm’s length and the strands cleared.
I lowered it into the mouth, sucked and snapped in tlie
ends, and chewed, then took a bite of cheese, chewed,
and then a drink of the wine. It tasted of rusty metal.
I handed the canteen back to Passini.

“ It's rotten,” he said. “ It’s been in there too
long. I had it in the car.”

They were all eating, holding their chins close over
the basin, tipping their heads back, sucking in the
ends. I took another mouthful and some cheese and
a rinse of wine. Something landed outside that shook
the earth.

Four hundred twenty or minnenwerfer,” Gavuzzi
said.

There aren’t any four hundred twenties in the
mountains,” I said.

Skoda guns. I’ve seen the holes.”
Three hundred fives.”

We went on eating. There was a cough, a noise
i^e a railway engine starting and then an explosion
that shook the earth again.

“This isn’t a deep dugout,” Passini said.

.. xr ^ trench-mortar.”

Ves, sir.”

swallow of ^ cheese and took a

co^h fh other noise I heard a

SwA chuh-chuh<huh-chuh-then

open and ^ as a blast-furnace door is swung

mv^rlthMrn ^ t.reathe but

out of ^ ^sh bodUy

time bo2v / ^ the

myself anJ ^ °^t swiftly, all of

and ins^H nf died. Then I floated.

breatKd I fdt myself sUde back. I

1 was DacK. The ground was tom up

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

and in front of my head there was a splintered beam
of wood. In the jolt of my head I heard somebody
crying. I thought somebody was screaming. I tried
to move but I could not move. I heard the machine-
guns and rifles firing across the river and all along
the river. There was a great splashing and I saw the
star-shells go up and burst and float whitely and
rockets going up and heard the bombs, all this in a
moment, and then I heard close to me someone saying,
“ Mama mia I Oh, mama mia ! " I pulled and twisted
and got my legs loose finally and turned around and
touched him. It was Passini and when I touched him
he screamed. His legs were toward me and I saw in
the dark and the light that they were both smashed
above the knee. One leg was gone and the other was
held by tendons and part of the trouser and the stump
twitched and jerked as though it were not connected^
He bit his arm and moaned, “ Oh, mamma niia,
mamma mia," then, " Dio ti salvi, Maria, Dio ti
salvi, Maria. Oh, Jesus shoot me. Christ shoot me,
Mama mia, mama mia, oh purest lovely Mary shoot
me. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Oh Jesus lovely
Mary stop it. Oh oh oh oh," then choking,
" Mamma mamma mia." Then he was quiet, biting
his arm, the stump of his leg twitching.

" Portaferiti ! " I shouted, holding my hands
cupped. "Portaferiti!" I tried to get closer to
Passini to try to put a tourniquet on the legs but I
could not move. I tried again and my legs moved
a little. I could pull backward along with my arms
and elbows, Passini was quiet now. I sat beside
him, undid my tunic and tried to rip tlie tail of my
shirt. It would not rip and I bit the edge of the cloth
to start it. Then I thought of his puttees. I had
on wool stockings but Passini wore puttees. All the
drivers wore puttees. But Passini had only one leg.
I unwound the puttee and while I was doing it I saw
there was no need to try and make a tourniquet be¬
cause he was dead already. I made sure he was dead.
There were three others to locate. I sat up straight
and as I did so something inside my head moved like

54

4(

4i

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

the weights on a doll's eyes and it hit me inside behind
my eyeballs. My legs felt warm and wet and my
shoes were wet and warm inside. I knew that I was
hit and leaned over and put my hand on my knee.
My knee wasn’t there. My hand went in and my
knee was' down on my shin. I wiped my hand on my
shirt and another floating light came very slowly
down and I looked at my leg and was very afraid.
“Oh, God,” I said, "get me out of here.” I knew,
however, that there had been three others. There
were four drivers. Passini was dead. That left
three. Someone took hold of me under the arms and
somebody else lifted my legs.

There are three others,” I said. " One is dead.”
It’s Manera. We went for a stretcher but there
wasn’t any. How are you, Tenente ? ”

“ WTiere are Gordini and Gavuzzi ? ”

Gordini's at the post getting bandaged. Gavuzzi
has your legs. Hold on to my neck, Tenente. Are
you badly hit ? ”

'■ In the leg. How is Gordini ? ”

Hes all right. It was a big trench-mortar shell.”

“ Passini’s dead.”

“ Yes. He’s dead.”

A shell fell close and they both dropped to the
ground and dropped me. "I'm sorry, Tenente,”
said Manera. " Hang on to my neck.”

If you drop me again.”

' It was because we were scared.

Are you unwounded ? ”

We are both wounded a little.

Can Gordini drive ? ”

" I don’t think so.”

pos?^^ dropped me once more before we reached the

;; You sons of bitches,” I said.

won’t Manera said. ”We

wont ^op you again.”

ffroun*?^« ^ ^ the

broueht ^*^^7 carried wounded in and

brought them out. I could see the light come out

55

ft

ff

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

from the dressing-station when the curtain opened and
they brought someone in or out. The dead were oft
to one side. The doctors were working with their
sleeves up to their shoulders and were red as butchers.
There were not enough stretchers. Some of the
wounded were noisy but most were quiet. The wind
blew the leaves in the bower over the door of the
dressing-station and the night was getting cold.
Stretcher-bearers came in all the time, put their
stretchers down, unloaded them and went away. As
soon as I got to tlie dressing-station Manera brought
a medical sergeant out and he put bandages on both
my legs. He said there was so much dirt bIo\vn into
the wound that there had not been much haemorrhage.
They would take me as soon as possible. He
went back inside. Gordini could not drive, Manera
said. His shoulder was smashed and his head was
hurt. He had not felt bad but now the shoulder had
stiffened. He was sitting up beside one of the brick
walls. Manera and Gavuzzi each went off with a
load of wounded. They could drive all right.
The British had come with three ambulances and
they had two men on each ambulance. One of
their drivers came over to me, brought by Gordini
who looked very white and sick. The Britisher

leaned over. „

Are you hit badly ? ” he asked. He was a tall

man and wore steel-rimmed spectacles.

“ In the legs."

" It's not serious, I hope. Will you have a

cigarette ? ”

" Thanks."

" They tell me you've lost two drivers.

" Yes. One killed and the fellow that brought

^ " What rotten luck. Would you like us to take the

" That’s what I wanted to ask you.

" We’d take quite good care of them and return

them to the Villa. 206, aren't you ? "

" Yes.”

56

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" It's a charming place. I’ve seen you about. They
tell me you’re an American.”

“ Yes.”

” I’m English.”

” No 1 ”

” Yes, English. Did you think I was Italian ?
There were some Italians with one of our units.”

” It would be fine if you would take the cars,”
I said.

“We’ll be most careful of them.” He straightened
up. “ This chap of yours was very anxious for me
to see you.” He patted Gordini on the shoulder.
Gordini winced and smiled. The Englishman broke
into voluble and perfect Italian. “ Now everything
is arranged. I’ve seen your Tenente. We will take
over the two cais. You won’t worry now.” He
broke off. “ I must do something about getting you
out of here. I'll see the medical wallahs. We'll take
you back with us.”

He walked across to the dressing-station, stepping
carefully among the wounded. I saw the blanket
open, the light came out and he went in.

He will look after you, Tenente,” Gordini said.

“ How are you. Franco ? ”

” I am all right.” He sat down beside me. In a

moment the blanket in front of the dressing-station

opened and two stretcher-bearers came out followed by

the tall Englishman. He brought them over to me.

T American Tenente,” he said in

Italian.

I d rather wait,” I said. “ There are much
worse wounded than me. I'm all right.”

” Come, . come,” he said. “ Don’t be a bloody

in Italian : “ Lift him very carefully
bout the legs. His legs are very painful. He is the
egitunate son of President Wilson.” They picked me
p tod took me into the dressing-room. Inside they
inftV on all the tables. The little major

forced inrious. He recognized me and waved a

“ ^ va bien ? ”

57

A FAREWELL TO ARMS
“ Ca va.”

" I have brought him in,” the tall Englishman said
in Italian. " The only son of the American
Ambassador. He will be here until you are ready to
take him. Then I shall take him with my first load.”
He bent over me. ” I’ll look up their adjutant to do
your papers and it will all go much faster.” He
stooped to go under the doorway and went out. The
major was unhooking the forceps now, dropping them
in a basin. I followed his hands with my eyes. Now
he was bandaging. Then the stretcher-bearers took
the man off the table.

” I’ll take the American Tenente,” one of the
captains said. They lifted me on to the table. It
was hard and slippery. There were many strong
smells, chemical smells and the sweet smell of blood.
They took off my trousers and the medical captain
commenced dictating to the sergeant-adjutant while
he worked, ” Multiple superficial wounds of the left
and right thigh and left and right knee and right
foot. Profound wounds of right knee and foot.
Lacerations of the scalp ” — he probed — (Does that
hurt ?) (Christ, yes !) ” with possible fracture of the
skull. Incurred in the line of duty. That’s what
keeps you from being court-martialled for self-inflicted
wounds,” he said. ” Would you like a drink of
brandy ? How did you run into this thing anyway ?
Wliat were you trying to do ? Commit suicide ?
Anti-tetanus please, and mark a cross on both legs.
Thank you. I'll clean this up a little, wash it out,
and put on a dressing. Your blood coagulates
beautifully.”

The adjutant, looking up from the paper, "Wliat
inflicted the wounds ? ”

The medical captain, " What hit you ? ”

Me, with the eyes shut, " A trench-mortar shell.”
The captain, doing things that hurt sharply and
severing tissue — " Are you sure ? ”

Me — trying to lie still and feeling my stomach flutter
when the flesh was cut, " I think so.”

Captain doctor — (interested in something he was

58

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

finding), “Fragments of enemy trench-mortar shell.
Now I'll probe for some of this if you like but it’s
not necessary. I'll paint all this and — Docs that
sting ? Good, that's nothing to how it will feel later.
The pain hasn’t started yet. Bring him a glass of
brandy. The shock dulls the pain ; but this is all
right, you have nothing to worry about if it doesn’t
infect and it rarely does now. How is your head ? “

“ It's very bad," I said.

“ Better not drink too much brandy then. If you’ve
got a fracture you don't want inflammation. How
does that feel ? "

Sweat ran all over me.

'■ Good Christ ! " I said.

" I guess you’ve got a fracture all right. I’ll wrap
you up and don’t bounce your head around.” He
bandaged, his hands moving very fast and the bandage
coming taut and sure. “ All right, good luck and
Vive la France.”

“ He’s an American,’’ one of the other captains said.

“ I thought you said he was a Frenchman. He

talks French,” the captain said. “I've known him

before. I always thought he was French.” He drank

a half tumbler of cognac. “ Bring on something

serious. Get some more of the anti-tetanus.” The

wptain waved to me. They lifted me and the blanket-

nap went across my face as we went out. Outside

the sergeant-adjutant knelt down beside me where I lay,

Name ? he asked softly. “ Middle name ? First

name Rank? Where bom? What class? mat

corps? and so on. “ I’m sony for your head, Tencnte.

it ■ , I’m sending you now with

the English ambulance.”

ThpV^ ^ you very much.”

inH had started

happening was without interest or
nn ^ wWle the English ambulance came

sLm?p, ^ stretcher and lifted the

Thfrp to the ambulance level and shoved it in.
on it ®^other stretcher by the side with a man
whose nose I could see, waxy-looking, out of

• i >+

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

the bandages. He breathed very heavily. There
were stretchers lifted and slid into the slings above.
The tall English driver came around and looked in.
“ I'll take it very easily,” he said. " I hope you'll
be comfy.” I felt the engine start, felt him climb up
into the front seat, felt the brake come off and the
clutch go in, then we started. I lay still and let the
pain ride.

As the ambulance climbed along the road, it was
slow in the traffic, sometimes it stopped, some¬
times it backed on a turn, then finally it climbed quite
fast. I felt something dripping. At first it dropped
slowly and regularly, then it pattered into a stream.
I shouted to the driver. He stopped the car and
looked in through the hole behind lus seat.

”\Vliat is it?”

” The man on the stretcher over me has a
haemorrhage. ”

” We’re not far from the top. I wouldn’t be able
to get the stretcher out alone.” He started the car.
The stream kept on. In the dark I could not see
where it came from the canvas overhead. I tried to
move sideways so that it did not fall on me. Where
it had run down under my shirt it was warm and
sticky. I was cold and my leg hurt so that it made
me sick. After a while the stream from the stretcher
above lessened and started to drip again and I heard
and felt the canvas above move as the man on the
stretcher settled more comfortably.

” How is he ? ” the Englisliinan called back.

” We’re almost up.”

‘‘He’s dead I think,” I said.

The drops fell very slowly, as they fall from an
icicle after the sun has gone. It was cold in the car
in the night as the road climbed. At the post on the
top they took the stretcher out and put another in and
we went on.

60

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

CHAPTER X

In the ward at the field hospital they told me a visitor
was coming to see me in the afternoon. It was a
hot day and there were many flies in the room. My
orderly had cut paper into strips and tied the strips
to a stick to make a brush that swished the flies
away. I watched them settle on the ceiling. When
he stopped swshing and fell asleep they came down
and I blew them away and finally covered my face
\vith my hands and slept too. It was very hot and
when I woke my legs itched. I waked the orderly
and he poured mineral water on the dressings. That
made the bed damp and cool. Those of us that were
awake talked across the ward. The afternoon was a
quiet time. In the morning they came to each bed
m turn, three men nurses and a doctor and picked you
up out of bed and earned you into the dressing-room
so that the beds could be made while we were having
our wounds dressed. It was not a pleasant trip to
the dressmg-room and I did not know until later that
beds could be made with men in them. My orderly
had finished pouring water and the bed felt cool and

^ scratch on the

brought m Rinaldi. He came in very fast
wore gw'™ I “'V he

^ you tins It ^vas a bottle of mfmar Th#»

!?« ^ -^And good

thrmedleL^. ^ decorated. They want to get you

the brS^ ^ they can get only

^^at for ? "

you^OTovr-l wounded. They say if
silver OthpmJ^'* heroic act you can get the

Till n

ppened. Did you do any heroic act ?

61

it

«

me

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ No,” I said. ” I was blown up while we were
eating cheese.”

” Be serious. You must have done something
heroic either before or after. Remember carefully.”

” I did not.”

” Didn't you cany anybody on your back ?
Gordini says you carried several people on your back
but the medical major at the first post declares it is
impossible. He has to sign the proposition for the
citation.”

” I didn’t carry anybody. I couldn't move.”

" That doesn't matter,” said Rinaldi.

He took off his gloves.

” I think we can get you the silver. Didn't you
refuse to be medically aided before the others ? ”

” Not very firmly.”

“That doesn’t matter. Look how you are
wounded. Look at your valorous conduct in asking
to go always to the first line. Besides, the operation
was successful.”

” Did they cross the river all right ? ”

” Enormously. They take nearly a thousand
prisoners. It's in the bulletin. Didn't you see it ? ”

“No.”

” I'll bring it to you. It is a successful coup de
main.”

” How is everything ? ”

” Splendid. We are all splendid. Everybody is
proud of you. Tell me just exactly how it happened.

I am positive you will get the silver. Go on, tell me.
Tell me aU about it.” He paused and thought.
” Maybe you will get an English medal too. There
was an English there. I'll go and see him and ask
if he will recommend you. He ought to be able to do
something. Do you suffer much ? Have a drink.
Orderly, go get a corkscrew. Oh you should see what
I did in the removal of three metres of small intestine
and better now than ever. It is one for The Lancet.
You do me a translation and I will send it to The
Lancet. Every day I am better. Poor dear baby,
how do you feel ? Where is that damn corkscrew ?

62

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

ii

You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffer¬
ing.” He slapped his gloves on the edge of tlie bed.

” Here is the corkscrew, Signor Tenentc,” the
orderly said.

“Open the bottle. Bring a glass. Drink that,
baby. How is your poor head ? I looked at your
papers. You haven't any fracture. That major at
the first post was a hog-butcher. I would take you
and never hurt you. I never hurt anybody. I
learn how to do it. Every day I learn to do things
OTOOther and better. You must forgive me for talk¬
ing so much, baby. I am very moved to see you
badly wounded. There, drink that. It's good. It
cost fifteen lire. It ought to be good. Five stars.
After I leave here I’ll go see that English and he’ll
get you an English medal.”

" They don't give them like that.”

You are so modest. I will send the liaison officer.
He can handle the English.”

“ Have you seen Miss Barkley > ”
her ^ bring

How°“e‘thf 'girJ?

havel'^'cha'^ged V™'' /In •I''! T*"'

It is disgraceful Th/v ^

collides.” ' ^ ® old war

“ You don’t go at all > ”

should stay so long that th^v ^ ^^5;ace that they

a is jusrbid ®* eirls.

with no new girk.” ' alone at the war

63

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

I drank the cognac and felt it warm all the way
down. Rinaldi poured another glass. He was
quieter now. He held up the glass. "To your
“Valorous wounds. To the silver medal. Tell me,
baby, when you lie here all the time in the hot weather

don’t you get excited ?

" Sometimes."

" I can't imagine lying like that. I would go crazy."

" You are crazy."

" I wish you were back. No one to come in at
night from adventures. No one to make fun of. No
one to lend me money. No blood brother and room
mate. Why do you get yourself wounded ? ”

" You can make fun of the priest.”

"That priest. It isn’t me that makes fun of him.
It is the captain. I like him. If you must have a
priest have that priest. He's coming to see you. He
makes big preparations."

" I like him."

" Oh, I knew it. Sometimes I think you and he are
a little that way. You know.”

"No, you don’t.”

" Yes, I do sometimes. A little that way like the
number of the first regiment of the Brigata Ancona."

" Oh, go to hell."

He stood up and put on his gloves.

“ Oh. I love to tease you, baby. With your priest
and your English girl, and really you are just like me
underneath."

"No, I’m not."

" Yes, we are. You are really an Italian. AJl fira-
''I I and smoke and nothing inside. You only pretend to be
' American, we are brothers and we love each other."
" Be good while I'm gone," I said.

"I will send Miss Barkley. You are better with
her without me. You are purer and sweeter.”

" Oh, go to hell."

" I will send her. Your lovely cool goddess.
Enelish goddess. My God, what would a man dp
with worr^ likeHEH^ exce'^t .wors~Kp he^r^^hat
' else is an English woma^^d for? "

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“You are an ignorant foul-mouthed dago.”

“ A what ? "

“An ignorant wop.”

“ Wop. You are a frozen-faced . . . wop.”

" You are ignorant. Stupid.” I saw that word
pricked him and kept on. “ Uninformed. In¬
experienced, stupid from inexperience.”

“Truly? I tell you something about your good
women. Your goddesses. There is only one differ¬
ence between taking a girl who has always been good
and a woman. With a girl it is painful. That's all I
know.” He slapped the bed with his glove. “ And
you never know if the girl will really like it.”

“ Don't get angry.”

“ I’m not angry. I just tell you, baby, for your
own good. To save you trouble.”

“ That's the only difference ? ”

“ Yes. But millions of fools like you don’t know
it.”

“ You were sweet to tell Tne.”

“ We won’t quarrel, baby. I love you too much.
But don't be a fool.”

"No. -rU-be--wise'1ikrydu.”

"Don't be angry, baby. Laugh. Take a drink.
I must go, really.”

" You're a good old boy.”

" Now you see. Underneath we are the same. We
are war brothers. Kiss me good-bye.”

" You're sloppy. .

" No. I am just more affectionate.”

I felt his breath come toward me. “ Good-bye. I
come to see you again soon.” His breath went away.
1 wont kiss you if you don’t want. I’ll send your

Lnghsh giri. Good-bye. baby. The cognac is under
the bed. Get well soon.”

He was gone.

7

\

• »

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

CHAPTER XI

It was dusk when the priest came. They had
brought the soup and afterward taken away the
bowls, and I was lying looking at the rows of beds
and out the window at the tree-top that moved a
little in the evening breeze. The breeze came in
through the window, and it was cooler with the even¬
ing. The flics were on the ceiling now and on the
electric light bulbs that hung on wires. The lights
were only turned on when someone was brought in at
night or when something was being done. It made
me feel yerr young to have the dark come after the
> dusk and then remaim It^as like being put to^ed
, ^tter early suppeiL- The orderly came down between
the beds and stopped. Someone was with him. It
was the priest. He stood there small, brown-faced,
and embarrassed.

” How do you do } " he asked. He put some
packages down by the bed, on the floor.

" AU right, father.”

He sat down in the chair that had been brought for
Rinaldi and looked out of the window embarrassedly.

I noticed his face looked very tired.

” I can only stay a minute,” he said. ” It is late.”

” It’s not late. How is the mess ? ”

He smiled. “ I am still a great joke.” He
sounded tired too. ” Thank God they are all well.

” I am so glad you are all right,” he said. ” I
hope you don’t suffer.” He seemed very tired and I
was not used to see him tired.

'' Not any more.”

” 1 miss you at the mess.”

” I wish I were there. I always enjoyed our talk¬
ing.”

” I brought you a few little tilings,” he said. He
picked up the packages. ” This is mosquito netting.
This is a bottle of vermouth. You like vermouth ?
These are English papers

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Please open them.”

He was pleased and undid them. I held the
mosquito netting in my hands. The vermouth he held
up for me to see and then put it on the floor beside
the bed. I held up one of the sheaf of English papers.
I could read the headlines by turning it so the half-
light from the window was on it. It was The News
of the World.

” The others are illustrated,” he said.

” It will be a great happiness to read them. Where
did you get them ? ”

” I sent for them to Mestre. I will have more.”

” You were very good to come, father. Will you
drink a glass of vermouth ? ”

“Thank you. You keep it. It’s for you.”

“ No, drink a glass.”

“AH right. I will bring you more then.”

The orderly brought the glasses and opened the
bottle. He broke off the cork and the end had to be
shoved down into the bottle. I could see the priest
was disappointed but he said, “ That’s all right. It’s
no matter.”

" Here’s to your health, father.”

“ To your better health.”

Afterward he held the glass in his hand and we
looked at one another. Sometimes we talked and
were good friends but to-night it was difficult.

What s the matter, father? You seem verv
tired.” ^

“ I am tired, but I have no right to be.”

“ It’s the heat.”

«« spring. I feel very low.”
lou have the war disgust.”

“ No. But I hate the war.”

“ I don’t enjoy it.” I said. He shook his head and
looked out of the window.

You do not mind it. You do not see it. You

I know you are wounded.”

^ lhat is an accident.”

” Still even wounded you do not see it. I can teU
1 do not see it myself, but I feel it a littie.”

67

“ WTien I was wounded we were talking about it.
Passini was talking.”

Tile priest put down the glass. He was thinking
about something else.

” I know them because I am like they are,” he said.

” You are dii?erent, though.”

” But really I am like they are.”

‘‘The officers don’t see anything.”

” Some of them do. Some are very delicate and
feel worse than any of us.”

” They are mostly different.”

” It is not education or money. It is something
else. Even if they had education or money men like
Passini would not wish to be officers. I would not be
an officer.”

” You rank as an officer. I am not an officer.”

” I am not really. You are not even an Italian.
You are a foreigner. But you are nearer the officers
than you are to the men.”

” What is the difference ? ”

” I cannot say it easily. There are people who would
make war. In this country there are many like that.
There are other people who would not make war.”

“But the first ones make them do it.”

” Yes.”

" And I help them.”

” You are a foreigner. You are a patriot.”

” And the ones who would not make war ? Can
they stop it ? ”

” I do not know.”

He looked out of the window again. I watched his
face.

” Have they ever been able to stop it ? ”

” They are not organized to stop things, and when
they get organized their leaders sell them out.”

” Then it’s hopeless ? ”

‘ * It is never hopeless. But sometimes I cannot
\ hopeT I try always to hVpe, but sometimes I cannot.”

” Maybe the war vwTTbe over.”

” I hope so.”

” What will you do then^ ”

iPlL

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

If it is possible I will return to the Abruzzi."

His brown face was suddenly very happy.

“ You love the Abruzzi ! ”

“ Yes, I love it very much."

“ You ought to go there then."

" I w’ould be too happy. If I could live there and
love God and serve Him."

" And be respected," I said.

" Yes, and be respected. M’hy not ? "

" No reason not. You should be respected."

" It does not matter. But tliere in my country it
is understood that a man may love God, It is not a
dirty joke."

" I understand."

He looked at me and smiled.

“You understand, but you do not love God."

"No."

“ You do not love Him at all ? " he asked.

“ I am afraid of Him in the night sometimes."

“ You should love Him."

“ I don’t love much."

“ Yes," he said. “ You do. What you tell me
about in the nights. That is not love. That is only
passion and lust. When you love you wish to do things
for. You wdsh to sacrifice for. You wish to serve."

“ I don’t love."

You will. I know you will. Then you will be
happy."

I m happy. I’ve always been happy."

It is another thing. You cannot know about it
unless you have it."

" Well," I said. “ If I ever get it I wiU teU you."

1 stay too long and talk too much.” He was
womed that he really did.

No. Don’t go. How about loving women ? If
i r^y loved some woman, would it be like that ? "

i don t know about that. I never loved any
woman. ^

", ^^out your mother ? "

«• ^ nmst have loved my mother."

• Hid you always love God ? "

69

A FARE VI' ELL TO ARMS

“ Ever since I was a little boy.”

” Well,” I said. I did not know what to say.
” You are a line boy,” I said.

” I am a boy,” he said. '' But you call me father.”

“ That’s politeness.”

He smiled.

” I must go, really,” he said. ” You do not want
me for anything ? ” he asked hopefully.

” No. Just to talk.”

” I will take your greetings to the mess.”

” Thank you for the many fine presents."

"Nothing."

" Come and see me again.”

" Yes. Good-bye.” He patted my hand.

" So long," I said in dialect.

" Ciaou,” he repeated.

It was dark in the room and the orderly, who had
sat by the foot of the bed, got up and went out with
him. I liked him very much and I hoped he would
get back to the Abruzzi sometime. He had a rotten
life in the mess and he was fine about it, but I thought
how he would be in his own country. At Capracotta,
he had told me, there were trout in the stream below
the town. It was forbidden to play the flute at night.
WTien the young men serenaded only the flute was
forbidden. Why, I had asked. Because it was bad
for the girls to hear the flute at night. The peasants
all called you " Don ” and when you met them they
took off their hats. His father hunted every day and
stopped to eat at the houses of peasants. They were
always honoured. For a foreigner to hunt he must
present a certificate that he had never been arrested.
There were bears on the Gran Sasso DTtalia, but it
was a long way. Aquila was a fine town. It was cool
in the summer at night, and the spring in Abruzzi was
the most beautiful in Italy. But what was lovely was
the fall to go hunting through the chestnut woods.
The birds were all good because they fed on grapes,
and you never took a lunch because the peasants were
always honoured if you would eat with them at their
houses. After a while I went to sleep.

70

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

CHAPTER XII

The rooiH was long with \vindows on the right-hand
side and a door at the far end that went into the
dressing-room. The rows of beds that mine was in
faced the windows and another row, under the
windows, faced the wall. If you lay on your left side
you could see the dressing-room door. There was
another door at the far end that people sometimes
came in by. If anyone were going to die they put a
screen around the bed so you could not see them die,
blit only the shoes and puttees of doctors and men
nurses showed under the bottom of the screen, and
sometimes at the end there would be whispering.
Then the priest would come out from behind the
screen, and afterward the men nurses would go back
behind the screen, to come out again carrying the one
who was dead with a blanket over him down the
corridor between the beds, and someone folded the
screen and took it away.

That morning the major in charge of the ward asked
me if I felt that I could travel the next day. I said I
could. He said then they would ship me out early in
the morning. He said I would be better off making
the trip now before it got too hot.

When they lifted you up out of bed to carry you into
the dressing-room you could look out of the window
and see the new graves in the garden. A soldier sat
outside the door that opened on to the garden, making
crones and painting on them the names, rank, and
regiment of the men who were buried in the garden.
He also ran errands for the ward, and in his spare
time made me a cigarette-lighter out of an empty
Austrian rifle-cartridge. The doctors were very nice
and seemed very capable. They were anxious to ship
me to Milan, where there were better X-ray facilities
and where, after the operation, I could take mechanico-
therapy. I wanted to go to Milan too. They wanted
to get us all out and back as far as possible because

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

all the beds were needed for the offensive, when it
should start.

The night before I left the field hospital Rinaldi
came in to see me with the major from our mess.
They said that I would go to an American hospital
in Milan that had just been installed. Some American
ambulance units were to be sent down, and this
hospital would look after them and any other
Americans on service in Italy. There were many in
the Red Cross. The States had declared war on
Germany, but not on Austria.

The Italians were sure America would declare war
on Austria too, and they were very excited about any
Americans coming down, even the Red Cross. They
asked me if I thought President Wilson would declare
war on Austria and I said it was only a matter of
days. I did not know what we had against Austria,
but it seemed logical that they should declare war on
her if they did on Germany. They asked me if we
wojild declare war on Turkey. I said that was doubt¬
ful. Turkey, I said, was our national bird, but the
joke translated so badly and they were so puzzled and
suspicious that I said yes, we would probably declare
war on Turkey. And on Bulgaria ? We had drunk
several glasses of brandy and I said yes, by God, on
Bulgaria too and on Japan. But, they said, Japan
is an ally of England. You can’t trust the bloody
English. The Japanese want Hawaii, I said. Where
is Hawaii ? It is in the Pacific Ocean. Why do the
Japanese want it ? They don’t really want it, I said.
That is all talk. The Japanese are a wonderful little
people, fond of dancing and light wines. Like the
French, said the major. We will get Nice and
Savoia from the French. We will get Corsica and all
the Adriatic coastline, Rinaldi said. Italy will return
to the splendours of Rome, said the major. I don’t
like Rome, I said. It is hot and full of fleas. You
don’t like Rome ? Yes, I love Rome. Rome is the
mother of nations. I will never forget Romulus suck¬
ling the Tiber. What ? Nothing. Let’s all go to
Rome. Let’s go to Rome to-night and never come

72

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

back. Rome is a beautiful city, said the major. The
mother and father of nations, I said. Roma is
feminine, said Rinaldi. It cannot be the father. Who
is the father, then, the Holy Ghost ? Don't blaspheme.
I wasn’t blaspheming, I was asking for information.
You are drunk, baby. Who made me drunk ? I
made you drunk, said the major. I made you drunk
because I love you and because America is in the
war. Up to the hilt, I said. You go away in the
morning, baby, Rinaldi said. To Rome, I said. No,
to Milan. To Milan, said the major, to the Crystal
Palace, to the Cova, to Campari's, to Biffi’s, to the
galleria. You lucky boy. To the Gran Italia, I
said, where I will borrow money from George. To
the Scala, said Rinaldi. You will go to the Scala.
Every night, I said. You won’t be able to afford it
every night, said the major.

^ The tickets are very expensive. I will draw a
sight draft on my grandfather, I said. A what ? A
sight draft. He has to pay or I go to jail. Mr.
Cunningham at the bank does it. I live by sight
drafts. Can a grandfather jail a patriotic grandson
who is dying that Italy may live ? Live the American
Garibaldi, said Rinaldi. Ewiva the sight drafts, I
said. We must be quiet, said the major. Already
we have been asked many times to be quiet. Do
you go to-morrow reaUy, Federico ? He goes to the
American hospital, I teU you, Rinaldi said. To the
beautiful nurses. Not the nurses with beards of the
held hospi^tal. Yes, yes, said the major, I know he
goes to the Amencan hospital. I don’t mind their
beards, I smd. If any man wants to raise a beard,
let 1^. Why don’t you raise a beard. Signor
Maggiore. It could not go into a gas-mask.
^ L Anything can go in a gas-

hLi We all know you

what will

Lior ^ SO. said the

S i becomes sentimental. Listen, I have a sur-
pnse for you. Your English. You know ? The English

73

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

you go to see every night at their hospital ? She is
going to Milan too. She goes with another to be at
the American hospital. They had not got nurses yet
from America. I talked to-day with the head of their
riparto. They have too many women here at the
front. They send some back. How do you like that,
baby ? All right. Yes ? You go to live in a big city
and have your English there to cuddle you. Why
don’t I get wounded ? Maybe you will, I said. We
must go, said the major. We ^ink and make noise
and disturb Federico. Don't go. Yes, we must go.
Good-bye. Good luck. Many things. Ciaou.
Ciaou. Ciaou. Come back quickly, baby. Rinaldi
kissed me. You smell of lysol. Good-bye, baby.
Good-bye. Many things. The major patted my
shoulder. They tiptoed out. I found I was quite
drunk, but went to sleep.

The next day in the morning we left for Milan and
arrived forty-eight hours later. It was a bad trip.
We were side-tracked for a long time this side of
Mestre and children came and peeked in. I got a
little boy to go for a bottle of cognac, but he came
back and said he could only get grappa. I told him
to get it, and when it came I gave him the change
and the man beside me and I got drunk and slept
until past Vicenza, where I woke up and was very
sick on the floor. It did not matter, because the man
on that side had been very sick on the floor several
times before. Afterward I thought I could not stand
the thirst, and in the yards outside of Verona I called
to a soldier who was walking up and down beside
the train and he got me a drink of water. I woke
Georgetti, the other boy who was drunk, and offered
him some water. He said to pour it on his shoulder
and went back to sleep. The soldier would not
take the penny I offered him and brought me a pulpy
orange. I sucked on that and spat out the pith and
watched the soldier pass up and down past a freight-
car outside, and after. a while the train gave a jerk
and started.

74

^OOK TIVO

CHAPTER XIII

We got into Milan early in the morning and they
unloaded us in the freight-yard. An ambulance took
me to the American hospital. Riding in the
ambulance on a stretcher I could not tell what part
of the town we were passing through, but when they
unloaded the stretcher I saw a market-olace and an

A

open wme shop with a girl sweeping out. They were

watering the street and it smelled of the early morning.

They put the stretcher down and went in. The porter

came out with them. He had grey moustaches, wore

a doorman's cap and was in his shirt-sleeves. The

stretcher would not go into the elevator, and they

discussed whether it was better to lift me off the

stretcher and go up in the elevator or carry the

stretcher up the stairs. I listened to them discussing

it. They decided on the elevator. They lifted me

from the stretcher. “Go easy," I said. “Take it
softly.”

In the elevator we were crowded and as my legs

bent the pain was very bad. “ Straighten out the legs,”
1 said.

“We can't. Signor Tenente. There isn't room.”

Ine man who said this had his arm around me and

my arm was around his neck. His breath came in

my face metalUc with garUc and red wine.

Be gentle,” the other man said.

Son of a bitch, who isn't gentle.”

Be gentle, I say,” the man with my feet
repeated. ^

of the elevator closed, and the
grme shut and the fourth-floor button pushed by the

ro^^LwTy^ worried. The elevator

“ Heavy ? '* I asked the man with the garUc.

75

\ -f

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“Nothing,” he said. His face was sweating and
he grunted. The elevator rose steadily and stopped.
The man holding the feet opened the door and stepped
out. We were on a balcony. There were several
doors with brass knobs. The man carrying the feet
pushed a button that rang a bell. We heard it inside
the doors. No one came. Then the porter came up
the stairs.

“ Where are they ? ” the stretcher-bearers asked.

“ I don’t know,” said the porter. “ They sleep
downstairs.”

“ Get somebody.”

The porter rang the bell, then knocked on the door,
then he opened the door and went in. When he came
back there was an elderly woman wearing glasses
with him. Her hair was loose and half-falling, and
she wore a nurse's dress.

“I can’t understand,” she said. “I can’t under¬
stand Italian.”

"I can speak English,” I said. “They want to
put me somewhere.”

“ None of the rooms are ready. There isn’t any
patient expected.” She tucked at her hair and looked
at me near-sightedly.

“ Show them any room where they can put me.”

“ I don’t know,” she said. " There’s no patient
expected. I couldn’t put you in just any room.”

“ Any room will do,” I said. Then to the porter in
Italian. “ Find an empty room.”

“They arc all empty,” said the porter. “You
are the first patient." He held his cap in his hand
and looked at the elderly nurse.

“ For Christ’s sweet sake take me to some room.”
The pain had gone on and on with the legs bent, and I
could feel it going in and out of the bone. The porter
went in the door, followed by the grey-haired woman,
then came hurrying back. “ Follow me,” he said.
They carried me down a long hall-way and into a room
with drawn blinds. It smelled of new furniture.
There was a bed and a big wardrobe with a mirror.
They laid me down on the bed.

76

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ I can't put on sheets," the woman said. '' The
sheets are locked up."

I did not speak to her. " There is money in my
pocket," I said to the porter. " In the buttoned-
do\vn pocket." The porter took out the money. The
two stretcher-bearers stood beside the bed holding
their caps. " Give them five lire apiece and five lire
for yourself. My papers are in the other pocket.
You may give them to the nurse."

The stretcher-bearers saluted and said thank you.
" Good-bye," I said. " And many thanks." They
saluted again and went out.

“Those papers," I said to the nurse, “describe
my case and the treatment already given."

The woman picked them up and looked at them
through her glasses. There were three papers and
they were folded. “ I don’t know what to do," slie
said. “ I can’t read Italian. I can’t do anything
without the doctor's orders." She commenced to cry
and put the papers in her apron pocket. " Are you
an American ? " she asked crying.

^ ^ Please put the papers on the table by the

room. As I lay on the
bed I could see the big mirror on the other side of
the room, but could not see what it reflected. Tlie

porter stood by the bed. He had a nice face and was
very kind.

T " SO." I said to him. " You can go too,"

I said to the nurse. “ What is your name ? "

^^Mrs. Walker."

sle^p^”'' I think I wiU go to

did not

^ ?°®Pdal. The mattress was firm and com-
hannv !„ I wdhout moving, hardly breathing,

b^the “d found the bell on a cord

by tte bed and rang it, but nobody came. I went to

When I woke I looked around. There was sunHght

1

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

coming in through the shutters. I saw the big
armoire, the bare walls and two chairs. My legs in
the dirty bandages stuck straight out in the bed. I
was careful not to move them. I was thirsty and I
reached for the bell and pushed the button. I heard
the door open and looked and it was a nurse. She
looked young and pretty.

“ Good morning,” I said.

” Good morning,” she said and came over to the
bed. ” We haven’t been able to get the doctor.
He’s gone to Lake Como. No one knew there was a
patient coming. What’s wrong with you, anyway ? ”

” I’m wounded. In the legs and feet and my head
is hurt.”

” What’s your name ? ”

” Henry. Frederic Henry.”

” rU wash you up. But we can’t do anything to
the dressings until the doctor comes.”

” Is Miss Barkley here ? ”

” No. There’s no one by that name here.”

” Who was the woman who cried when I came

in ? ”

The nurse laughed. “That’s Mrs. Walker. She
was on niglit-duty and she’d been asleep. She wasn t
expecting anyone.”

While we were talking she was undressing me,
and when I was undressed, except for the bandages,
she washed me, very gently and smoothly. The
washing felt very good. There was a bandage on my
head, but she washed all around the edge.

“Where were you wounded ? ”

“ On the Isonzo, north of Plava.”

“ Where is that ? ”

“North of Gorizia.”

I could see that none of the places meant anything to

her. , ,,

“ Do you have a lot of pain ? ’

“ No. Not much now.”

She put a thermometer in my mouth.

“The Italians put it under the arm,” I said.

“ Don’t talk.”

78

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

fM 6' t -

When she took the thermometer out she read it
and then shook it.

“ What's the temperature ? "

"You’re not supposed to know that.”

" Tell me what it is.”

" It's almost normal.”

" I never have any fever. My legs are full of old
iron too.”

" What do you mean ? ”

" They’re full of trench-mortar fragments, old
screws and bed-springs and things.”

She shook her head and smiled.

" If you had any foreign bodies in your legs they
would set up an inflammation and you’d have fever.”

"All right,” I said. " We’U see what comes out.”

She went out of the room and came back with
the old nurse of the early morning. Together they
made the bed with me in it. That was new to me and
an admirable proceeding.

" Who is in charge here ? ”

■" Miss Van Cainpen.”

" How many nurses are there ? ”

" Just us two.”

" Won’t there be more ? ”

“ Some more are coming.”

“ When will they get here ? ”

I don't know. You ask a great many questions
for a sick boy.”

"I'm not sick,” I said, " I'm wounded.”

They had finished making the bed and I lay with a

clean smooth sheet under me and another sheet over

me. Mrs. Walker went out and came back with a

pj^ama jacket. They put that on me and I felt very
clean and dressed.

S I said. The nurse

giggled. " Could I have a drink
of water ? ” I asked.

“ breakfast.”

breakfast. Can I have the shutters

opened, please ? ”

The light had been dim in the room and when the

1

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

shutters were opened it was bright sunlight, and I
looked out on a balcony and beyond were the tiled
roofs of houses and chimneys. I looked out over the
tiled roofs and saw white clouds and the sky very blue.

“ Don’t you know when the other nurses are
coming ? ”

“ Why ? Don’t we take good care of you ? ”

“ You’re very nice."

" Would you like to use the bedpan ? "

" I might try."

They helped me and held me up, but it was not any
use. Aftenvard I lay and looked out the open doors
on to the balcony.

" When does the doctor come ? "

" When he gets back. We've tried to telephone to
Lake Como for him.”

"Aren’t there any other doctors?"

" He’s the doctor for the hospital."

Miss Gage brought a pitcher of w'ater and a glass.
I drank three glasses and then they left me, and I
looked out the window a while and went back to
sleep. I ate some lunch and in the afternoon Miss
Van Campen, the superintendent, came up to see me.
She did not like me and I did not like her. She was
small and neatly suspicious and too good for her posi¬
tion. She asked many questions and seemed to think
it was somewhat disgraceful that I was with the
Italians.

" Can I have wine with the meals ? " I
asked her.

" Only if the doctor prescribes it.”

" I can’t have it until he comes ? "

" Absolutely not."

" You plan on having him come eventually ? ”

" We've telephoned him at Lake Como."

She went out and Miss Gage came back.

" Why were you rude to Miss Van Campen ? " she
asked after she had done something for me very

skilfully. ^

" I didn't mean to be. But she was snooty.

She said you were domineering and rude."

80

44

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ I wasn’t. But what’s the idea of a hospital
without a doctor ? ”

"He’s coming. They’ve telephoned for liim to
Lake Como."

" What does he do there ? Swim ? "

" No. He has a clinic there."

" Why don’t they get another doctor ? "

“ Hush I Hush 1 Be a good boy and he’ll come."

I sent for the porter and when he came I told him
in Italian to get me a bottle of Cinzano at tlie wine
shop, a fiasco of chianti and the evening papers. He
went away and brought them wrapped in newspaper,
unwrapped them, and then I asked him to draw the
corks and put the wine and vermouth under the bed.
They left me alone and I lay in bed and read the
papers a while, the news from the front, and the list
of dead officers v,ith their decorations, and tlieh
reached down and brought up the bottle of Cinzano
and held it straight up on my stomach— the cool glass
against my stomach — and took little drinks, making
rings on my stomach from holding the bottle there be¬
tween drinks, and watched it get dark outside over the
roofs of the town. The swallows circled around and I
watched them and the night hawks flying above tlie
roofs, and drank the Cinzano. Miss Gage brought up
a glass with some egg nog in it. I lowered the

vermouth bottle to the other side of the bed when she
came in.

Miss Van Campen had some sherry put in this ’’
she said. “ You shouldn’t be rude to her. She’s not
^ung ^d this hospital is a big responsibility for her,
Mre. Walkers too old and she's no use to her.”

bhes a splendid woman,” I said. "Thank her
very much."

supper right away."

That s all nght," I said. "I'm not hungry.”

it the bed-
^ iittle of the supper,
^te^d It was dark outside and I could see the

searchlights moving in the sky. I
watched for a while and then went to sleep. I slept

81

I

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

heavily, except once I woke sweating and scared and
then went back to sleep, tiying to stay outside of my
dream. I woke for good long before it was light and
heard roosters crowing, and stayed on awake until it
began to be light. I was tired and once it was really
light I went back to sleep again.

CHAPTER XIV

It was bright sunlight in the room when I woke. I
thought I was back at the front and stretched out in
bed. My legs hurt me and I looked do\vn at them,
still in the dirty bandages, and seeing them knew where
I was. I reached up for the bell-cord and pushed the
button. I heard it buzz down the hall and then
someone coming on rubber soles along the hall. It
was Miss Gage and she looked a little older in the
bright sunlight and not so pretty.

“Good morning,” she said. “Did you have a
good night ? “

“ Yes, thanks, very much,” I said. “ Can I have
a barber ? ”

“ I came in to see you and you were asleep with
this in the bed with you.”

She opened the armoire door and held up the ver¬
mouth bottle. It was nearly empty. “ I put the
other bottle from under the bed in there too,” she said.
“ Why didn't you ask me for a glass ? ”

“ I thought maybe you wouldn’t let me have it.”

“ I'd have had some with you.”

“ You’re a fine girl.”

“ It isn't good for you to drink alone,” she said.
“ You mustn’t do it.”

“ All right.”

“ You're friend Miss Barkley's come,” she said.

“ Really ? ”

“Yes. I don’t like her.”

“ You will like her. She’s awfully nice.”

She shook her head. " I’m sure she’s fine. Can
you move just a little to this side ? That s fine. 1 11

82

c» Si L

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

clean you up for breakfast.” She washed me with a
cloth and soap and warm water. ^ ” Hold your
shoulder up,” she said. ” That's fine.”

“Can I have the barber before breakfast ? ”

"ni send the porter for him.” She went out and
came back. ” He's gone for him,” she said and
dipped the cloth she held in the basin of water.

The barber came with the porter. He was a man of
about fifty, with an upturned moustache. Miss Gage
was finished with me and went out, and the barber
lathered my face and shaved. He was very solemn
and refrained from talking.

“ What's the matter ? Don't you know any news ? ”
I asked.

“ What news ? ”

” Any news. What's happened in the town ? ”

” It is time of war,” he said. ” The enemy's i’ari.

' J) are ever^hcgel!! ^ ”

I looked up at him. ” Please hold your face still,”
he said and went on shaving. ” I will tell nothing.”

” ^Vhat’s the matter with you ? ” I asked.

“I am an Italian. I \vill not communicate with
the enemy.”

I let it go at that. If he was crazy, the sooner I
could get out from under the razor the better. Once I
tried to get a good look at him. “ Beware,” he said.

The razor is sharp.”

I paid him when it was over and tipped him half a
lira. He returned the coins.

“I will not. I am not at the front. But I am an
Italian.”

” Get to hell out of here.”

“With your permission,” he said and wrapped his
razors in newspaper. He went out leaving the five
copper coins on the table beside the bed. I rang the
bell. Miss Gage came in. ” Would you ask the
porter to come, please ? ”

” AH right.”

The porter came in. He was trying to keep from
laughing.

Is that barber crazy

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

"No, signorino. He made a mistake. He doesn’t
understand very well and he thought I said you were
an Austrian officer."

;; Oh," I said.

" Ho, ho, ho I " the porter laughed. " He was
funny. One move from you, he said, and he would
have - " He drew his forefinger across his throat.

"Ho, ho, ho!" He tried to keep from laughing.
" When I teU him you were not an Austrian. Ho,
ho, ho I "

" Ho, ho, ho I " I said bitterly. " How funny if
he would cut my throat. Ho, ho, ho ! ”

" No, signorino. No, no. hie was so frightened
of an Austrian. Ho, ho, ho."

" Ho, ho, ho I " I said. " Get out of here 1 "

He went out and I heard him laughing in the hall.
I heard someone coming down the hallway. I looked
toward the door. It was Catherine Barkley.

She came in the room and over to the bed.

" Hello, darling," she said. She looked fresh and
young and very beautiful. I thought I had never seen
anyone so beautiful.

"Hello," I said. When— I- saw- her I was,m love
with her. Everything turned oveF inside of me. She
look^ toward the door, saw there was no one, then
she sat on the side of the bed and leaned over and
kissed me. I pulled her do^vn and kissed her and felt
her heart beating.

" You sweet," I said. " Weren't you wonderful
to come here ? "

" It wasn't very hard. It may be hard to
stay."

" You've got to stay," I said. " Oh, you're
wonderful.” I was crazy about her. I could not
believe she was really there and held her tight to me.

" You mustn’t," she said. " You’re not well
enough.”

" Yes. I am. Come on."

" No. You're not strong enough.”

" Yes. I am. Yes. Please."

84

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" You do love me ? ”

“ I really love you. I’m crazy about you. Come
on, please.”

” Feel our hearts beating ? ”

“ I don’t care about our hearts. I want you. I’m
just mad about you.”

“ You really love me ? ”

” Don’t keep on saying that. Come on. Please,
please, Catherine.”

” All right, but only for a minute.”

” AU right.” I said. ” Shut the door.”

” You can’t. You shouldn’t - ”

” Come on. Don’t talk. Please come on.”

Catherine sat in a chair by the bed. The door was
open into the hall. The wildness was gone and I felt
finer than I had ever felt.

She asked, ” Now do you believe I love you ? ”

” Oh, you’re lovely," I said. ” You've got to stay.

They can’t send you away. I’m crazy in love with
you.”

^ “We’ll have to be a\vfully careful. That was
just madness. We can't do that.”

“ We can at night.”

“We’U have to be awfully careful. You’ll have to
be careful in front of other peoDle.”

“ I will.”

me! lon’t you ®

that® "^at

more to ^ ‘0 do anything

more to you. I have to go now. darling. reaUy.’’

Come back nght away." ^

“ I'll come when I can."

Good-bye.”

"Good-bye, sweet.”

in love'^^h ^ wanted to fall

the room of the hospital in Milan and all sorts of

85

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

things went through my head, and finally Miss Gage
came in.

“ The doctor’s coming,” she said. ” He telephoned
from Lake Como.”

” When does he get here ? ”

" He’ll be here this afternoon.”

CHAPTER XV

Nothing happened until afternoon. The doctor was a
thin quiet little man who seemed disturbed by the war.
He took out a number of small steel splinters from my
thighs with delicate and refined distaste. He used a
local anesthetic called something or other “snow,”
which froze the tissue and avoided pain until the
probe, the scalpel or the forceps got below the frozen
portion. The anesthetized area was clearly defined
by the patient, and after a time the doctor's fragile
delicacy was exhausted and he said it would be better
to have an X-ray. Probing was unsatisfactory, he said.

The X-ray was taken at the Ospedale Maggiore, and
the doctor who did it was excitable, efficient and
cheerful. It was arranged, by holding up the
shoulders, that the patient should see personally some
of the larger foreign bodies through the machine.

The plates were to be sent over. The doctor requested
me to write in his pocket notebook, my name, and
regiment, and some sentiment. He declared that the
foreign bodies were ugly, nasty, brutal. The
Austrians were sons of bitches. How many had I
killed ? I had not killed any, but I was anxious to
please — and I said I had killed plenty. Miss Gage
was with me and the doctor put his arm around her
and said she was more beautiful than Cleopatra. Did
she understand that ? Cleopatra the former queen of
Egypt. Yes, by God she was. We returned to the
little hospital in the ambulance, and after a while and
much lifting I was upstairs and in bed again. The
plates came that afternoon ; the doctor had said by

86

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

God he would have them that afternoon and he did.
Catherine Barkley showed them to me. They were in
red envelopes and she took them out of the envelopes
and held them up to the light and we both looked.

" That’s your right leg,” she said, then put the
plate back in the envelope. “This is your left.”

‘‘Put them away,” I said, "and come over to the
bed.”

” I can’t,” she said. “ I just brought them in for
a second to show you.”

She went out and I lay there. It was a hot after¬
noon and I was sick of lying in bed. I sent the porter
for the papers, all the papers he could get.

Before he came back three doctors came into the
room. I have noticed that doctors who fail in the
practice of medicine have a tendency to seek one an¬
other's company and aid in consultation. A doctor
who cannot take out your appendix properly will
recommend to you a doctor who will be unable to
remove your tonsils with success. These were three
such doctors.

” This is the young man,” said the house doctor
with the delicate hands.

“ How do you do ? ” said the tall gaunt doctor with
the beard. The third doctor, who carried the X-ray
plates in their red envelopes, said nothing.

Remove the dressings ? ” questioned the bearded
doctor.

Certainly. Remove the dressings, please, nurse,”
the house doctor said to Miss Gage. Miss Gage
removed the dressings. I looked down at the legs.

ui ^ hospital they had the look of not too
ireshly ground hamburger steak. Now they were
c^ted and the knee was swollen and discoloured, and
the wlf sunken, but there was no pus.

Very dean,” said the house doctor. “ Very
clc^ and nice,”

, said the doctor with the beard. The third

Qoctor looked over the house doctor's shoulder.

Please move the knee,” said the bearded doctor.

I can’t.”

87

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Test the articulation ? ” the bearded doctor
questioned. He had a stripe beside the three stars on
his sleeve. That meant he was a first captain.

“ Certainly/’ the house doctor said. Two of them
took hold of my right leg very gingerly and bent it.

“ That hurts,” I said.

” Yes, yes. A little further, doctor.”

“ That's enough. That's as far as it goes," I said.

” Partial articulation,” said the first captain. He
straightened up. ” May I see the plates again, please,
doctor ? ” The third doctor handed him one of the
plates. ” No. The left leg, please.”

” That is the left leg, doctor.”

“ You are right. I was looking from a different
angle.” He returned the plate. The other plate he
examined for some time. “You see, doctor?” he
pointed to one of the foreign bodies which showed
spherical and clear against the light. They examined
the plate for some time.

” Only one thing I can say,” the first captain with
the beard said. “It is a question of time. Three
months, sLx months probably.”

“ Certainly the synoveal fluid must re-form.”

“ Certainly. It is a question of time. I could not
conscientiously open a knee like that before the pro¬
jectile was encysted.”

“ I agree with you, doctor.”

“ Six months for what ? ” I asked.

“ Six months for the projectile to encyst before the
knee can be opened safely.”

“ I don’t believe it,” I said.

“ Do you want to keep your knee, young man ? ”

“ No,” I said.

“ What ? ”

“ I want it cut off,” I said. “ so I can wear a hook

0^ A U 1 0

” Wliat do you mean ? A hook i

“ He is joking ” said the house doctor. He patted
my shoulder very delicately. " He wants to keep his
knee. This is a very brave young man. He has
been proposed for the sUver medal of valour.

88

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ All my felicitations," said the first captain. He
shook my hand. " I can only say that to be on the
safe side you should wait at least six months before
opening such a knee. You are welcome of course to
another opinion."

"Thank you very much," I said. " I value your
opinion."

The first captain looked at his watch.

"We must go," he said. "All my best wishes."

"All my best wishes and many thanks," I said. I
shook hands with the third doctor, Capitan Varini-
Tenente Enry, and they all three went out of the room.

" Miss Gage," I called. She came in. " Please
ask the house doctor to come back a minute."

He came in holding his cap and stood by the bed.
" Did you wish to see me ? "

" Yes. I can’t wait six months to be operated on.
My God, doctor, did you ever stay in bed six
months ? "

You won’t be in bed all the time. You must first
have the wounds exposed to the sun. Then after-
w^d you can be on crutches."

,, months and then have an operation ? "

k n foreign bodies must

be aUowed to encyst and the synoveal fluid will re-

safe to open up the knee."

*k i. really think yourself I will have to wait

that long ?

“ That is the safe way.”

;; Wo is that first captain ? "

^ He is a very exceUent surgeon of Milan."

, He s a first captain, isn’t he ? "

“ T ?’ excellent surgeon."

If he w« = ’’y ^ captain.

what ^ I know

captain is, doctor.”

have ^ rather

“ r™ sufgeon I know.”

'• r surgeon see it ? ”

BareU?^;i:j„'^ Dr.

39

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Could you ask another surgeon to come and see
it?"

" I will ask Valentini to come."

" Who is he ? "

" He is a surgeon of the Ospedale Maggiore."

" Good. I appreciate it very much. You under¬
stand, doctor, I couldn’t stay in bed six months."

"You would not be in bed. You would first take
a sun cure. Then you could have light exercise. Then
when it was encysted we would operate."

" But I can’t wait six months.”

The doctor spread his delicate fingers on the cap
he held and smiled. " You are in such a hurry to
get back to the front ? "

" Why not ? "

" It is very beautiful," he said. " You are a
noble young man." He stooped over and kissed me
very delicately on the forehead. " I will send for
Valentini. Do not worry and excite yourself. Be a
good boy.”

" Will you have a drink ? " I asked.

"No thank you. I never drink alcohol.”

" Just have one." I rang for the porter to bring
glasses.

" No. Thank you. They are waiting for me."

" Good-bye,” I said.

" Good-bye."

Two hours later Dr. Valentini came into the room.
He was in a great hurry and the points of his
moustache stood straight up. He was a major, his
face was tanned, and he laughed all the time.

" How did you do it, this rotten thing ? " he asked.
"Let me see the plates. Yes. Yes. That’s it.
You look healthy as a goat. Who’s the pretty girl ?
Is she your girl ? I thought so. Isn't this a bloody
war ? How does that feel ? You are a fine boy. I’ll
make vou better than new. Does that hurt ? YoiTbet
' it hurts. How they love to hurt you, these doctors.
\^at have they done for you so far ? Can’t that girl
talk Italian ? She should Jeam. What a lovely girl.

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

I could teach her. I will be a patient here myself.
No, but I will do all your maternity work free. Does
she understand that ? She will make you a fine boy.
A fine blonde like she is. That's fijie. That’s all
right. What a lovely girl. Ask her if she eats supper
with me. No, I don’t take her away from you. Thank
you. Thank you very much, miss. That’s all.”

That’s all I want to know.” He patted me on the
shoulder. ” Leave the dressings off.”

” Will you have a drink. Dr. Valentini ? ”

“A drink? Certainly. I will have ten drinks.
Where are they ? ”

In the armoire. Miss Barkley will get the bottle.”
Cheery oh. Cheery oh to you, miss. What a
lovely girl ! I will bring you better cognac than
that. He wiped his moustache.

” When do you think it can be operated on ? ”
To-morrow morning. Not before. Your stomach
must be emptied. You must be washed out. I will
the old lady downstairs and leave instructions,
tjood-bye. I see you to-morrow. I’U bring you better

r!5!!f K "^ou are very comfortable here,

rn Un^„ to-morrow. Get a good sleep,

mm f waved from the doorway, his

tace was

hpno ^ There was a star in a box on his sleeve
because he was a major.

CHAPTER XVI

Irthlf Ld the open

watched the S^ht over which we

was dark in the roofs of the town. It

night over the tZ^a^dThVb

but hunted in ^ ‘^^t was not frightened.

We lay and wa^che°d’'him

us, beiu^^we Uy so ^ Aftl

a searchlight com^e on and tfa^^he^S^

91

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

across the sky and then go off and it was dark again.
A breeze came in the night, and we heard the men of
the anti-aircraft gun on the next roof talking. It was
cool and they were putting on their capes. I worried
in the night about someone coming up, but Catherine
said they were all asleep. Once in the night we went
to sleep and when I woke she was not there, but I
heard her coming along the hall and the door opened
and she came back to the bed and said it was all
right, she had been downstairs and they were all
asleep. She had been outside Miss Van Campen’s
door and heard her breathing in her sleep. She
brought crackers and we ate them and drank some
vermouth. We were very hungry, but she said that
would all have to be gotten out of me in the morning.
I went to sleep again in the morning when it was
light and when I was awake I found she was gone
again. She came in looking fresh and lovely and sat
on the bed, and the sun rose while I had the thermo¬
meter in my mouth, and we smelled the dew on the
roofs and then the coffee of the men at the gun on the
next roof.

" I wish we could go for a walk,” Catherine said.

“ I'd wheel you if we had a chair.”

" How would I get into the chair ? ”

” We’d do it.”

” We could go out to the park and have breakfast
out-doors.” I looked out the open doorway.

” What we'll really do,” she said, ” is get you ready
for your friend, Dr. Valentini.”

” I thought he was grand.”

” I didn’t like him as much as you did. But I
imagine he’s very good.”

” Come back to bed, Catherine, please," I said.

” I can't. Didn’t we have a lovely night? "

” And can you be on night-duty to-night ? ”

” I probably will. But you won’t want me.”

“Yes, I will.”

“ No, you won’t. You’ve never been operated on.
You don't know how you'll be.”

" I’ll be aU right.”

92

(VL/

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

4f

44

44

You’ll be sick and I won’t be anything to you."
Come back then now."

No,” she said. " I have to do the chart, darling,
and fix you up.”

" You don't really love me or you’d come back
again.”

You’re such a silly boy.” She kissed me.
"That's all right for the chart. Your temperature’s
always normal. You’ve such a lovely temperature."
You’ve got a lovely everything."

Oh, no. You have the lovely temperature. I’m
aw^y proud of your temperature."

Maybe all our children will have fine tempera¬
tures."

Our children will probably have beastly
temperatures."

ValeSS”^ you have to do to get me ready for

Not much. But quite unpleasant.”

,, I wish you didn’t have to do it."

T'r« ^ ^ anyone else to touch you.

" Walker ? ”

44

44

44

ta

There*'mf,t'L '"any nurses here now.

away ™Tur“ “

They';vm'J[^llThte Je

“ go too."

well qu^ily*^\axSe and”

‘^^d^^n go somewhere."

on

Maybe the war will be over. It can't always go
Ih get weU,” I said. " Valentini wiU fix me."

93

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

He should with those moustaches. And, darling,
when you’re going under the ether, just think about
something else — not us. Because people get very
blabby under an anaesthetic.”

” What should I think about ? ”

“ Anything. Anything but us. Think about your
people. Or even any other girl.”

" No.”

” Say your prayers then. That ought to create a
splendid impression.”

” Maybe I won’t talk.”

” That's true. Often people don't talk."

" I won’t talk.”

” Don't brag, darling. Please don’t brag. You’re
so sweet and you don’t have to brag.”

" I won’t talk a word.”

“ Now you’re bragging, darling. You know you
don’t need to brag. Just start your prayers or poetry
or something when they tell you to breathe deeply.
You’ll be lovely that way and I’U be so proud of you.
I’m very proud of you anyway. You have such a
lovely temperature, and you sleep like a little boy
with your arm around the pillow and think it's me.
Or is it some other girl ? Some fine Italian girl ? ”

“ It’s you.”

” Of course it's me. Oh, I do love you, and
Valentini will make you a fine leg. I'm glad I don’t
have to watch it.”

"And you’ll be on night-duty to-night.”

" Yes. But you won’t care.”

" You wait and see.”

" There, darling. Now you’re all clean inside and
out. Tell me. How many people have you ever
loved ? ”

" Nobody.”

" Not even me ? ”

" Yes, you.”

" How many others really ? ”

" None.”

" How many have you — how do you say it ? — stayed
with ? ”

94

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“None.”

” You're lying to me.”

” Yes.”

“ It’s all right. Keep right on lying to me. That’s
what I want you to do. Were they pretty ? ”

” I never stayed with anyone.”

“That’s right. Were they very attractive? ”

“ I don't know anything about it.”

“You’re just mine. That’s true and you’ve never
belonged to anyone else. But I don’t care if you
have. I'm not afraid of them. But don't tell me
about them. When a man stays with a girl when
does she say how much it costs ? ”

“ I don’t know.”

“ Of course not. Does she say she loves him ? Tell
me that. I want to know that.”

" Yes. If he wants her to.”

“ Does he say he loves her ? Tell me, please.
It's important.”

“ He does if he wants to.”

” But you never did ? Really ? ”

“No.”

“ Not really ? Tell me the truth.”

“No.” I Ued.

wouldn't,” she said. “ I knew you wouldn’t.
Oh, I love you, darling.”

Outside the sun was up over the roofs and I could
see the points of the cathedral with the sunUght on

the^doctor^^ outside and waiting for

^ said. “ She says just

what he wants her to ? ” ’’

“ Not always.”

do^h^ - say just what you wish and I’U
other ^11^ and then you will never want any

hannUv^^T'S^ me very

want and fh ^

^ be a great success, won't I ? ”

all“rl!^dy “> <»“

now that you’re

95

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Come to the bed again."

'' All right. rU come."

''Oh, darlmg, darling, darling," I said.

You see," she said. “ I do anything you want.”
" You’re so lovely.”

" I'm afraid I’m not very good at it vet."

;; You’re lovely.”

I want what you want. There isn't any me any
more. Just what you want."

" You sweet."

" I’m good. Aren't I good ? You don't want any
other girls, do you ? ”

" No."

" You see ? I'm good. I do what you want."

CHAPTER XVII

When I was awake after the operation I had not
been away. You do not go away. They only choke
you. It is not like dying, it is just a chemical choking,
so you do not feel, and afterward you might as well
have been drunk except that when you throw up
nothing comes but bile and you do not feel better
afterward. I saw sandbags at the end of the bed.
They were on pipes that came out of the cast. After
a while I saw Miss Gage and she said, " How is it
now ? ”

"Better,” I said.

" He did a wonderful job on your knee.”

" How long did it take ? ”

" Two hours and a half.”

" Did I say anything silly ? ”

"Not a thing. Don't talk. Just be quiet.”

I was sick and Catherine was right. It did not
make any difference who was on night-duty.

There were three other patients in the hospital now,
a thin boy in the Red Cross from Georgia with
malaria, a nice boy, also thin, from New York, with

96

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

malaria and jaundice, and a fine boy who had tried to
unscrew the fuse-cap from a combination shrapnel and
high explosive shell for a souvenir. This was a
shrapnel shell used by the Austrians in the mountains
with a nose-cap which went on after the burst and
exploded on contact.

Catherine Barkley was ^eatly liked by the nurses
because she would do night-duty indefinitely. She
had quite a little work with the malaria people ; the
boy who had unscrewed the nose-cap was a friend of
ours and never rang at night unless it was necessary,
but between the times of working we were together.
I loved her very much and she loved me. I slept iii
the daytime and we wrote notes during the day when
we were awake and sent them by Ferguson. Ferguson
was a fine girl. I never learned anything about her
«cept that she had a brother in the Fifty-Second
Division and a brother in Mesopotamia and she was
veiy good to Catherine Barkley.

" Will you come to our wedding, Fergy ? " I said
to her once.

" You’ll never get married."

" We will.”

No you won’t."

" Why not ? "

you'll many."

^ We never fight."

" You’ve time yet."

" We don’t fight."

peopTe^do. they‘"j“n-t

^ht youtwo R.?* ^

Y«."s ‘ ‘"f' w"'“ •" «

;; We have a fine time."
trouble" set her

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ I won’t.”

” Mind you watch out. I don’t want her with any
of these war babies.”

” You’re a fine girl, Fergy.”

*' I’m not. Don't try to flatter me. How does
your leg feel ? ”

“Fine."

" How is your head ? ” She touched the top of it
with her fingers. It was sensitive like a foot that
had gone to sleep. “ It’s never bothered me.”

“ A bump like that could make you crazy. It
never bothers you 7 ”

“No.”

” You're a lucky young man. Have you the letter
done ? I’m going down.”

“ It’s here,” I said.

“ You ought to ask her not to do night-duty for a
while. She's getting very tired.”

“All right. I will.”

“ I want to do it but she won’t let me. The others
are glad to let her have it. You might give her just
a little rest.”

“All right.”

“ Miss Van Campen spoke about you sleeping all
the forenoons.”

“ She would.”

“ It would be better if you let her stay off nights a
little while.”

“ I want her to.”

“ You do not. But if you would make her I’d
respect you for it.”

” I’ll make her.”

“ I don’t believe it.” She took the note and went
out. I rang the bell and in a little while Miss Gage
came in.

“ What’s the matter ? ”

“ I just wanted to talk to you. Don’t you think
Miss Barkley ought to go off night-duty for a while ?
She looks awfully tired. Why does she stay on so
long ? ”

Miss Gage looked at me.

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“rm a friend of yours," she said. "You don't
have to talk to me like that."

" WTiat do you mean ? "

" Don’t be silly. Was that all you wanted ? ”

" Do you want a vermouth ? ”

" All right. Then I have to go." She got out
the bottle from the armoire and brought a glass

" You take the glass," I said. " I’ll drink out of
the bottle."

Here’s to you," said Miss Gage.

"What did Van Campen say about me sleeping
late in the mornings ? "

"She just jawed about it. She calls you our
privileged patient."

“To hell with her."

“She isn’t mean," Miss Gage said. "She’s iust
old and cranky. She never liked you."

that^^^’ ^ friend. Don’t forget

" You’re awfully damned nice."

, J* is nice. But I'm

your fnend. How does your leg feel > "

"Fine."

“ bring some cold mineral water to pour over

-■ Wrf outside."

You re awfully nice.

" Does it itch much ? "

" No. It's fine."

“ i;m yot "

" I know you are."

No you don't But you will some day."

— -

long journV. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

99

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

CHAPTER XVIII

We had a lovely time that summer. When I could
go out we rode in a carriage in the park. I remember
the carriage, the horse going slowly, and up ahead
the back of the driver with his varnished high hat,
and Catherine Barkley sitting beside me. If we let
our hands touch, just the side of my hand touching
hers, we were excited. Afterward when I could get
around on crutches we went to dinner at Bifi&’s or the
Gran Italia and sat at the tables outside on the floor
of the galleria. The waiters came in and out and
there were people going by and candles with shades
on the tablecloths, and after we decided that we liked
the Gran Italia best, George, the head-waiter, saved
us a table. He was a fine waiter and we let him
order the meal while we looked at the people, and the
great galleria in the dusk and each other. We drank
dry white capri iced in a bucket * although we tried
many of the other wines, fresa, barbera and the sweet
white wines. They had no wine waiter because of the
war and George would smile ashamedly when I asked
about wines like fresa.

“ If you imagine a country that makes a wine be¬
cause it tastes like strawberries." he said.

" Why shouldn't it ? " Catherine asked. " It

sounds splendid."

" You try it, lady," said George, " if you want to.
But let me bring a little bottle of margaux for the

Tenente."

" rU try it too, George."

" Sir, I can’t recommend you to. It doesn’t even
taste like strawberries."

“It might.” said Catherine. "It would be

wonderful if it did." , , j

“ rU bring it," said George, "and when the lady

is satisfied I’ll take it away." . j..

It was not much of a wine. As he said it did not
even taste like strawberries. We went back to capn.

100

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

One evening I was short of money and George loaned
me a hundred lire. “That's all right, Tenente," he
said. “ I know how it is. I know how a man gets
short. If you or the lady need money I've always
got money."

After dinner we walked through the galleria, past
the other restaurants and the shops with their steel
shutters down, and stopped at the little place where
they sold sandwiches : ham and lettuce sandwiches
and anchovy sandwiches made of very tiny brown
glazed rolls and only about as long as your finger.
They were to^ eat in the night when we were hungry.
Then we got into an open carriage outside the galleria
m front of the cathedral and rode to the hospital. At
the door of the hospital the porter came out to help
with the crutches. I paid the driver, and then we rode
upstairs in the elevator. Catherine got off at the
lower floor where the nurses lived and I went on up
and went down the hall on crutches to my room * some¬
times I undressed and got into bed and sometimes I
sat out on the balcony with my leg up on another
chair and watched the swallows over the roofs and
waited for Catherine. When she came upstairs it
was as |hough she had been away on a long trip, and I

Sed crutches and

^led the basins and waited outside the doors or

Wend^ on whether they were

of ours or not, and when she had done all

m^room Aft T t '^^'oony outside

we^ a!l asletn 3 ^ ““ "'>'cn they

Te canteen *“'■0 ‘''oy would not call

St o^thl b d “''d 1 ‘>0'™. nnd she

she would (hn^do^^ suddenly

Md j ^ "O "''n'e I was doing it

^eet a^*^? ‘tfld^b thorn on^he

p4s anTit^''^ id^^n""'' ‘"he ourthe to

dropTer head ‘and “id\‘^°i!™ ®he would

and'^it ^ the it'

falls. ^ inside a tent or behind a

101

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

She had wonderfully beautiful hair and I would lie
sometimes and watch her twisting it up in the light
that came in the open door, and it shone even in the
night as water shines sometimes just before it is really
daylight. She had a lovely face and body and lovely
smooth skin too. We wo^d be lying together and I
would touch her cheeks and her forehead and under
her eyes and her chin and throat with the tips of my
fingers and say, “ Smooth as piano keys,” and she
would stroke my chin with her finger and say,
” Smooth as emery paper and very hard on piano
keys.”

"Is it rough ? ”

" No, darling. I was just making fun of you.”

It was lovely in the nights and if we could only
touch each other we were happy. Besides all the big
times we had many small ways of making love and we
tried putting thoughts in the other one’s head while
we were in different rooms. It seemed to work some¬
times but that was probably because we were thinking

the same thing anyway. ^

We said to each other that we were married the
first day she had come to the hospital and we counted
months from our wedding day. I wanted to be really
married but Catherine said that if we were they would
send her away and if we merely started on the
formalities they would watch her and would break us
up. We would have to be married under Italian law
and the formalities were terrific. I wanted us to be
married really because I worried about having a child
if I thought about it, but we pretended to ourselves
we were married and did not worry much and I
suppose I enjoyed not being married, really. I know
one night we talked about it and Catherine said, '' But,
darling, they’d send me away.”

" Maybe they wouldn't.”

" They would. They'd send me home and then we
would be apart until after the war.” i ,

'■ Td come on leave.”

** You couldn’t get to Scotland and back on a leave.
Besides, I won't leave you. What good would it do

102

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

to marry now ? We’re really married. I couldn’t be
any more married.”

“ I only wanted to for you.”

'* There isn’t any me. I’m you. Don’t make up
a separate me.”

” I thought girls always wanted to be married.”

” They do. But, darling, I am married. I’m
married to you. Don't I make you a good wife ? ”

” You're a lovely wife.”

"You see, darling, I had one experience of waiting
to be married.”

*' I don’t want to hear about it.”

“ You know I don’t love anyone but you. You
shouldn’t mind because someone else loved me.”

” I do.”

“ You shouldn’t be jealous of someone who’s dead
when you have everything.”

” No, but I don't want to hear about it.”

“Poor darling. And I know you’ve been with all
kinds of girls and it doesn’t matter to me.”

" CouldJi’t we be married privately some way ?

Then if anything happened to me or if you had a
child - ”

“ There’s no way to be married except by church
or state. We are married privately. You see,
darling, it would mean everything to me if I had any
religion. But I haven’t any religion.”

“ You gave me the Saint Anthony.”

That was for luck. Someone gave it to
me.

“ Then nothing worries you ? ”

"9nly being sent away from you. You’re mv
reh^on. You're aU I’ve got.”

“ ^ marry you the day you say.”

^ you had to make an honest

woman pf me, darlmg. I’m a very honest woman,
^ou can t be ashamed of something if you’re onlv
happy ^d proud of it. Aren’t you happy ? ” ^

someone else? ”

e\si(> T ^ won’t ever leave you for someone

else. I suppose all sorts of dreadful things wiU

103

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

happen to us. But you don’t have to worry about
that.”

” I don’t. But I love you so much and you did
love someone else before.”

” And what happened to him ? ”

” He died.”

” Yes, and if he hadn't I wouldn’t have met you.
I'm not unfaithful, darling. I’ve plenty of faults but
I’m very faithful. You’ll be sick of me I’ll be so
faithful.”

” I’ll have to go back to the front pretty soon.”

” We won’t think about that until you go. You
see I'm happy, darling, and we have a lovely time.
I haven’t been happy for a long time and when I met
you perhaps I was nearly crazy. Perhaps I was
crazy. But now we’re happy and we love each other.
Do let's please just be happy. You are happy, aren’t
you ? Is there anything I do you don’t like ? Can I
do anything to please you ? Would you like me to
take down my hair ? Do you want to play ?

” Yes and come to bed.”

” All right. I’ll go and see the patients first.”

CHAPTER XIX

The summer went that way. I do not remember
much about the days, except that tliey were hot and
that there were many victories in the papers. I was
very healthy and my legs healed quickly so that it
was not very long after 1 was first on crutches before
I was through with them and walking with a cane.
Then I started treatments at the Ospedale Maggiore
for bending the knees, mechanical treatments, baking
in a box of mirrors with violet rays, massage, and
baths I went over there afternoons, and aftenvard
stopped at the caf^ and had a drink and read the
papers. I did not roam around the town ; but wanted
to get home to the hospital from the caf^. AU 1
wanted was to see Catherine. The rest of the tune

104

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

I was glad to kill. Mostly I slept in the mornings,
and in the afternoons, sometimes, I went to the races,
and late to the mechanical-therapy treatments. Some¬
times I stepped in at the Anglo-American Club and
sat in a deep leather-cushioned chair in front of the
window and read the magazines. They would not let
us go out together when I was off crutches because
it was unseemly for a nurse to be seen unchaperoned
with a patient who did not look as though he needed
attendance, so we were not together much in the
afternoons ; although sometimes we could go out to
dinner if Ferguson went along. Miss Van Campen
had accepted the status that we were great friends
because she got a great amount of work out of
Catherine. She thought Catherine came from very
good people and that prejudiced her in her favour
finally. Miss Van Campen admired family very
much and came from an e.xcellent family herself. The
hospital was quite busy. too. and that kept lier
occupied. It was a hot summer and I knew many
people in Milan but always was anxious to get back
home to the hospital as soon as the afternoon was
over. At the front they were advancing on the Carso,
they had taken Kuk across from Plava and were
takmg the Bamsizza plateau. The West front did
not sound so good. It looked as though the war
were gomg on for a long time. We were in the
war now but I thought it would take a year to get

them for

combat. Kext year would be a bad year or a Eood

^ount of men. I did not see how it could £o on

clSele aU the Bainsizza and Monte San

th7 Austrtn! mountains beyond for

me Austrians. I had seen them. All the hiehest

On the Carso they were

and swamps

AiJ^tria^s ^^on Napoleon would have whipped tL

fougM them ”^ver would have

them mountams. He would have let

ome down and whipped them around Verona

105

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

I

Still nobody was whipping anyone on the Western
front. Perhaps wars weren’t won any more. Maybe
they went on for ever. Maybe it was another
Hundred Years' War. I put the paper back on the
rack and left the club. I went down the steps care¬
fully and walked up the Via Manzoni. Outside the
Gran Hotel I met old Meyers and his wife getting
out of a carriage. They were coming back from the
races. She was a big-busted woman in black satin.
He was short and old, with a white moustache and
walked flat-footed with a cane.

" How do you do ? How do you do ? ” She shook

hands.

" Hello,” said Meyers.

” How were the races ? ”

“ Fine. They were just lovely. I had three
winners.”

■* How did you do ? ” I asked Meyers.

“All right. I had a winner.”

“ I never know how he does,” Mrs. Meyers said.

” He never tells me.” , tt l •

"I do all right,” Meyers said. He was beuig

cordial. ” You ought to come out.” While he
talked you had the impression that he was not look¬
ing at you or that he mistook you for someone else.

“ I will,” I said.

” I’m coming up to the hospital to see you, Mrs.
Meyers said. ” I have some things for my boys.
You’re all my boys. You certainly are my dear

boys.”

■■ Tliey’U be glad to see you.

” Those dear boys. You too. You're one of my

boys.”

■* I have to get back,” I said.

" You give my love to all those dear boys. I ve
got lots of things to bring. I've some fine Marsala

and cakes.” , ,, , , ,

“ Good-bye,” I said. ” They’U be awfully glad to

see you. ,

“Good-bye.” said Meyers. “You come around

to the galleria. You know where my table is. We’re

106

y

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

all there every afternoon.” I went on up the street.
I wanted to buy something at the Cova to take to
Catherine. Inside, at the Cova, I bought a bo.\ of
chocolate and while the girl wrapped it up I walked
over to the bar. There were a couple of British and
some aviators. I had a martini alone, paid for it,
picked up the box of chocolate at the outside counter
and walked on home toward the hospital. Outside the
little bar up the street from the Scala there were
some people I knew, a vice-consul, two fellows who
studied singing, and Ettore Moretti, an Italian from
San Francisco, who was in the Italian army. I had
a drink with them. One of the singers was named
Ralph Simmons, and he was singing under the name of
Enrico Del Credo. I never knew how well he could
sing but he was always on the point of something
very big happening. He was fat and looked shop¬
worn around the nose and mouth as though he had
hay-fever. He had come back from singing in
Piacenza. He had sung Tosca and it had been
wonderful.

‘‘Of course you’ve never heard me sing.” he said.

When will you sing here ? ”

” ru be at the Scala in the fall.”

benches at you.” Ettore
s^d. Did you hear how they threw the benches at
him m Modena ?

” It's a damned He.”

They threw the benches at him,” Ettore said.
T, was there. I threw six benches myself.”

You re ]ust a wop from Frisco,”

“ can't pronounce Italian,” Ettore said,

^verywhere he goes they throw the benches at

house to sing in the

. sti’i; a. t" “r.g".-- 'S",™":

at ylu ® ‘

y , Ettore said. You can t sing ItaUan.”

107

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ He’s a nut," said Edgar Saunders. " All he
knows how to say is throw benches."

" That's all they know how to do when you two
sing,” Ettore said. " Then when you go to
America you’ll tell about your triumphs at the Scala.
They wouldn't let you get by the first note at the
Scala."

" I'll sing at the Scala," Simmons said. " I'm
going to sing Tosca in October."

"We'll go, won't we, Mac?" Ettore said to the
vice-consul. " They’ll need somebody to protect
them."

" Maybe the American army \vill be there to protect
them,” the vice-consul said. " Do you want another
drink, Simmons ? You want a drink, Saunders ? ”

" All right," said Saunders.

" I hear you're going to get the silver medal,”
Ettore said to me. " What kind of citation you go¬
ing to get ? ”

" I don't know. I don’t know I’m going to get it.

" You’re going to get it. Oh boy. the girls at the
Cova will think you’re fine then. They’ll all think
you killed two hundred Austrians or captured a whole
trench by yourself. Believe me, I got to work for
my decorations."

"How many have you got, Ettore?" asked the
vice-consul.

" He's got everything," Simmons said. " He’s
the boy they're running the war for.”

" I’ve got the bronze twice and three silver
medals," said Ettore. " But the papers on only one
have come through."

" What’s the matter with the others ? " asked

Simmons. .

" The action wasn’t successful," said Ettore.
" When the action isn't successful they hold up all
the medals.”

" How many times have you been wounded,
Ettore ? "

"Three times bad. I got three wound-stnpes.
See ? " He pulled his sleeve around. The stripes

108

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

were parallel silver lines on a black background
sewed to the cloth of the sleeve about eight inches
below the shoulder.

“ You got one too," Ettore said to me. " Believe
me they’re fine to have. I'd rather have them than
medals. Believe me, boy, when you get three you’ve
got something. You only get one for a wound that
puts you three months in the hospital."

“Where were you wounded, Ettore?” asked the
vice-consul.

Ettore pulled up his sleeve. “ Here." He showed
the deep smooth red scar. “ Here on my leg. I
can’t show you that because I got puttees on ; and in
the foot. There’s dead bone in my foot that stinks
right now. Every morning I take new little pieces
out and it stinks all the time.”

" What hit you ? " asked Simmons.

" A hand grenade. One of those potato mashers.
It just blew the whole side of my foot off. You
know those potato mashers ? " He turned to me
Sure."

‘‘I saw the son of a bitch throw it," Ettore said.
It kn^ocked me down and I thought I was dead all
right, but those damn potato mashers haven't got any-
thmg m them. I shot the son of a bitch with my

Si officer ^

;; How did he look ? " asked Simmons.

don't L Ettore said. "I

wanted^t^th'^^^ ^

nted to throw one. He never saw any real fieht-

Kd"\ " bitcWrigr-

asked. ^ ” Simmons

ShoS in Ettote. " I

sh? to I It S.” ' I

asked.^'^ long have you been an officer. Ettore? " I

long^hlve^v^’u to be a captain. How

“6 nave you been a lieutenant ? "

109

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Going on three years."

" You can’t be a captain because you don’t know
the Italian language well enough,” Ettore said.
" You can talk but you can't read and write well
enough. You got to have an education to be a
captain. Why don’t you go in the American army ? ”

" Maybe I wiU."

" I wish to God I could. Oh boy, how much does
a captain get, Mac ? ”

" I don’t know exactly. Around two hundred and
fifty dollars I think."

" Jesus Christ, what I could do with two hundred
and fifty dollars. You better get in the American army
quick, Fred. See if you can’t get me in.”

” All right.”

” I can command a company in Italian. I could
learn it in English easy.”

” You’d be a general,” said Simmons.

” No. I don’t know enough to be a general. A
general's got to know a hell of a lot. You guys
think there ain’t anything to war. You ain't got
brains enough to be a second-class corporal.

“Thank God I don’t have to be,” Simmons

said.

“ Maybe you will if they round up all you slackers.
Oh boy, I’d like to have you two in my platoon. Mac
too. I’d make you my orderly, Mac.”

“ You’re a great boy, Ettore.” Mac said. " But
I’m afraid you’re a militarist.”

“ rU be a colonel before the war’s over.” Ettore

said.

“ If they don’t kill you.”

“They won’t kill me.” He touched the stars at
his collar with his thumb and forefinger. " See me
do that ? We always touch our stars if anybody

mentions getting killed.”

“ Let’s go, Sim,” said Saunders, standing up.

“ All right.” „

“So long,” I said. “I have to go too. It

was a quarter to six by the clock inside the bar.
“ Ciaou, Ettore.”

110

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Ciaou, Fred," said Ettore. " That’s pretty fine
you’re going to get the silver medal.”

” I don’t know I’U get it.”

“ You’ll get it all right, Fred. I heard you were
going to get it all right.”

" Well, so long,” I said. ” Keep out of trouble,
Ettore.”

" Don’t worry about me. I don't drink and I don’t
run around. I’m no boozer and whorehound. I
know what’s good for me.”

“ So long,” I said. ” I’m glad you’re going to
be promoted captain.”

” I don’t have to wait to be promoted. I’m going
to be a captain for merit of war. You know. Three
stars with the crossed swords and crown above.
That’s me.”

” Good luck."

Good luck. When you going back to the front ? ”
Pretty soon.”

” Well, I’ll see you around.”

" So long.”

'‘So long. Don’t take any bad nickels.”

I walked on down a back street that led to a cross-
cut to the hospital. Ettore was twenty-three. He
had been brought up by an uncle in San Francisco
and was visiting his father and mother in Torino
when war was declared. He had a sister, who had

America with him at the same time to

LhoiTtL % graduate from normal

® He was a legitimate hero who bored

Catherine could not stand him.

darlmg, they re much quieter.” ^

” I don’t mind him.”

and mdn t bore me, and bore me, and bore me.”

We bores me.

nel7Z’"VoTc*. -7 But you don’t

Zow at the front and you

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" I know.”

” You’re awfully sweet to know, and I try and
like him but he’s a dreadful, dreadful boy really.”

” He said this afternoon he was going to be a
captain.”

“ I’m glad,” said Catherine. " That should please
him.”

” Wouldn't you like me to have some more exalted
rank ? ' ’

” No, darling. I only want you to have enough
rank so that we're admitted to the better restaurants.”
” That’s just the rank I have.”

” You have a splendid rank. I don't want you to
have any more rank. It might go to your head.
Oh, darling. I’m awfully glad you’re not conceited.
I’d have married you even if you were conceited, but
it's very restful to have a husband who s not con-
ccitcd/ '

We were talking softly out on the balcony. The
moon was supposed to rise but there was a mist over
the tov/n and it did not come up, and in a little while
it started to drizzle and we came in. Outside the
mist turned to rain and in a little while it was raining
hard and we heard it drumming on the roof. I got
up and stood at the door to see if it was rammg in,
but it wasn’t so I left the door open.

” Who else did you see ? ” Catherine asked.

*' Mr. and Mrs. Meyers.”

” They’re a strange lot.” . • ^

” He’s supposed to have been in the penitentiary at

home. They let him out to die.”

” And he lived happily in Milan forever after.

” I don’t know how happily.” ,

” Happily enough after jail I should think.

” She's bringing some things here.”

” She brings splendid things. Were you her dear

boy ? ”

" One of them.” . . ,

-‘You are all her dear boys.” Cathenne ^^said.

” She prefers the dear boys. Listen to it rain.

“ It’s raining hard.”

112

44

it

And you'll always love me, won’t you ? "

Yes.”

” And the rain won't make any difference ? ”

” No.”

" That's good. Because I'm afraid of the rain.”
“Why?” I was sleepy. Outside the rain was
falling steadily.

“ I don't know, darling. I've always been afraid
of the rain.”

“ I like it.”

“ I like to walk in it. But it's very hard on
loving.”

“ I'll love you always.”

" rU love you in the rain and in the snow and in
the hail and — what else is there ? ”

“I don't know. I guess I'm sleepy.”

Go to sleep, darling, and I'll love you no matter
how it is.”

“ You're not really afraid of the rain, are you ? ”
Not when I'm with you.”

“ Why are you afraid of it ? ”

“ I don't know.”

TeU me.”

Don't make me.”

Tell me.”

" No.”

“ TeU me.”

All right. I m afraid of the rain because some¬
times I see me dead in it.”

“ No.”

“ sometimes I see you dead in it.”

That s more likely.”

Because I can keep you
selvk'' ^ nobody can help them-

nn/1 stop it. I don't want you to get Scotch
longer^^ won’t be together much

it." U-s

Yes, it's aU nonsense.”

If

If

il3

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" It's all nonsense. It's only nonsense. I'm not
afraid of the rain. I’m not afraid of the rain. Oh,
oh, God, I wish I wasn’t." She was crying. I
comforted her and she stopped crying. But outside
it kept on raining.

CHAPTER XX

One day in the afternoon we went to the races.
Ferguson went too and Crowell Rodgers, the boy
who had been wounded in the eyes by the explosion
of the shell nose-cap. The girls dressed to go after
lunch, while Crowell and I sat on the bed in his room
and read the past performances of the horses and
the predictions in the racing papers. Crowell's head
was bandaged and he did not care much about these
races but read the racing paper constantly and kept
track of all the horses for something to do. He said
the horses were a terrible lot but they were all the
horses we had. Old Meyers liked him and gave him
tips. Meyers won on nearly every race but disliked
to give tips because it brought down the prices. The
racing was very crooked. Men who had been ruled
off the turf everywhere else were racing in Italy.
Meyers’ information was good but I hated to ask him
because sometimes he did not answer, and always you
could see it hurt him to tell you, but he felt obligated
to tell us for some reason and he hated less to tell
Crowell. Crowell's eyes had been hurt, one was hurt
badly, and Meyers had trouble with his eyes and so
he liked Crowell. Meyers never told his wife what
horses he was playing and she won or lost, mostly
lost, and talked all the time.

We four drove out to San Siro in an open carnage.
It was a lovely day, and we drove out through the
park and out aloi»g the tramway and out of the town
where the road was dusty. There were villas with
iron fences and big overgrown gardens and ditches
with water flowing and green vegetable gardens with

114

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

dust on the leaves. We could look across the plain
and see farmhouses and the rich green farms with
their irrigation ditches and the mountains to the
north. There were many carriages going into the
race-track, and the men at the gate let us in without
cards because we were in uniform. We left the
carriage, bought programmes, and walked across the
infield and then across the smooth thick turf of the
course to the paddock. The grand-stands were old
and made of wood and the betting booths were under
the stands and in a row out near the stables. There
was a crowd of soldiers along the fence in the infield.
The paddock was fairly well filled with people and
they were walking the horses around in a ring under
the trees behind the grand-stand. We saw people we
knew and got chairs for Ferguson and Catherine and
watched the horses.

They went around one after the other, their heads
down, the grooms leading them. One horse, a
purplish black, Crowell swore was dyed that colour.
We watched him and it seemed possible. He had
only come out just before the bell rang to saddle. We
looked him up in, the programme from the number on
the groom’s arm and it was listed a black gelding
named Japalac. The race was for horses that had
never won a race worth one thousand lire or more.
Catherine was sure his colour had been changed.
Fergnson said she could not tell. I thought he looked
suspicious. We all agreed we ought to back him and
pooled one hundred Ure. The odds sheets showed he
would pay tl^y-five to one. Crowell went over and
bought the tickets while we watched the jockeys ride
^ound once more and then go out under the trees to

gallop slowly up to the turn where the
start was to be.

We went up in the grand-stand to watch the race,
in^ had no elastic barrier at San Siro then and the
^€r lined up all the horses — ^they looked very small
J • track— and then sent them off with a
V whip. They came past us with the

horse well in front and on the turn he was run-

llS

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

ning away from the others. I watched them on the
far side with the glasses and saw the jockey fighting
to hold him in, but he could not hold him and when
they came around the turn and into the stretch the black
horse was fifteen lengths ahead of the others. He went
way on up and around the turn after the finish.

“ Isn’t it wonderful ? ” Catherine said. “ We’ll
have over three thousand lire. He must be a splendid
horse.”

” I hope his colour doesn’t run,” Crowell said,
” before they pay off.”

” He was really a lovely horse,” Catherine said.
” I wonder if Mr. Meyers backed him.”

” Did you have the winner ? ” I called to Meyers.
He nodded.

"I didn't,” Mrs. Meyers said. "Who did you
children bet on ? ”

" Japalac.”

" Really ? He's thirty-five to one ! ”

" We liked his colour.”

'■ I didn’t. I thought he looked seedy. They told
me not to back liim.”

" He won't pay much,” Meyers sdd.

" He’s marked thirty-five to one in the quotes,” I
said.

" He won’t pay much. At the last minute,”
Meyers said, " they put a lot of money on him.”

" Who ? ”

" Kempton and the boys. You’ll see. He won’t
pay two to one.”

"Then we won’t get three thousand lire,”
Catherine said. " I don’t tike this crooked racing ! ”

" We’ll get two hundred lire.”

" That’s nothing. That doesn't do us any good.
I thought we were going to get three thousand.”

“ It’s crooked and disgusting,” Ferguson said.

" Of course,” said Catherine, “ if it hadn't been
crooked we’d never have backed him at all. But I
would have liked three thousand lire.”

" Let’s go down and get a drink and see what
they pay,” Crowell said. We went out to where

116

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

they posted the numbers and the bell rang to pay off
and they put up 18.50 after Japalac to win. That
meant he paid less than even money on a ten-lire bet.

We went to the bar under the grand-stand and had
a whisky and soda apiece. We ran into a couple of
Italians we knew and McAdams, the vice-consul, and
they came up with us when we joined the girls. The
Italians were full of manners, and McAdams talked to
Catherine while we went down to bet again. Mr.
Meyers was standing near the parimutuel.

“ Ask him what he played," I said to Crowell.

" What are you on, Mr. Meyers ? " Crowell asked.

Meyers took out his programme and pointed to the
number five wth his pencil.

“ Do you mind if we play him too ? " Crowell asked.

" Go ahead. Go ahead. But don't tell my wife
I gave it to you."

" Will you have a drink ? " I asked.

" No thanks. I never drink."

We put a hundred lire on number five to win and a
hundred to place and then had another whisky and
soda apiece. I was feeling very good and we picked
up a couple more Italians, who each had a drink
with us, and went back to the girls. These Italians
were also very mannered and matched manners with
the two we had collected before. In a little while no
one TOuld sit down. I gave the tickets to Catherine.

What horse is it ? "

.« ^ know. Mr. Meyers' choice."

Don't you even know the name ? ”

No. You can find it on the programme. Number
uve 1 think.”

“You have touching faith," she said. The
number five won but did not pay anything. Mr.
Meyers was angry. j j' 8

twp hundred Ure to make

‘Twelve lire to ten. It's not
twenty lire.”

l U go dovm with you." Catherine said to me.

Onf f ^ Stood up. We went downstairs and

oni to the paddock.

117

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Do you like this ? ” Catherine asked.

" Yes. I guess I do."

" It’s all right, I suppose,” she said. " But,
darling, I can’t stand to see so many people.”

” We don’t see many.”

” No. But those Meyers and the man from the

bank with his wife and daughters - ”

He cashes my sight drafts,” I said.

” Yes, but someone else would if he didn’t. Those
last four boys were awful.”

” We can stay out here and watch the race from
the fence.”

" That will be lovely. And, darling, let's back a
horse we've never heard of and that Mr. Meyers won’t
be backing.”

"All right."

We backed a horse named Light For Me that finished
fourth in a field of five. We leaned on the fence and
watched the horses go by, their hoofs thudding as
they went past, and saw the mountains off in the
distance and Milan beyond the trees and the fields.

" I feel so much cleaner,” Catherine said. The
horses were coming back, through the gate, wet and
sweating, the jockeys quieting them and riding up to
dismount under the trees.

" Wouldn't you like a drink ? We could have one
out here and see the horses.”

" I’ll get them," I said.

"The boy will bring them," Catherine said. She
put her hand up and the boy came out from the
Pagoda bar beside the stables. We sat down at a
round iron table.

" Don't you like it better when we’re alone ?

“ Yes,” I said.

" I felt very lonely when they were all there."
"It’s grand here," I said.

" Yes. It’s really a pretty course."

“ It's nice." ^

" Don’t let me spoil your fun, darling. 1 11 go

back whenever you want."

"No” I said. " We’U stay here and have our

lid

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

drink. Then we’ll go down and stand at the water-
jump for the steeple chase."

" You're awfully good to me,” she said.

After we had been alone awhile we were glad to
see the others again. We had a good time.

CHAPTER XXI

In September the first cool nights came, then the
days were cool and the leaves on the trees in the park
began to turn colour and we knew that summer was
gone. The fighting at the front went very badly and
they could not take San Gabriele. The fighting on
the Bainsizza plateau was over and by the middle of
the month the fighting for San Gabriele was about
over too. They could not take it. Ettore was gone
back to the front. The horses were gone to Rome
^d there was no more racing. Crowell had gone to
Rome too, to be sent back to America. There were
riots twice in the town against the war and bad riot¬
ing m Turin. A British major at the club told me
the Italians had lost one hundred and fifty thousand
men on the Bainsizza plateau and on San Gabriele.
He said they had lost forty thousand on the Carso

♦K A ^ talked. He said

>11 was over for the year down here and that

"1* ly® -Utahans had_bitten off more than they could chew.
UA offensive in b landers was going to the

oaa, U they killed men as they did this faU the AlUes
would be cooked in another year. He said we were

^ "S:ht as long as we did not
^ow It. We were all cooked. The thing was not to

roniS^® country to reaUze they were

T would \vm the war. We had another drink.

we^.i somebody’s staff? No. He was. We

leather smoothly polished dull

Si beautiful boots. He said it was

• They thought only in divisions and man-

F A

squabbled about divisions and only

power. They all squabbled about divisions and only
killed them when they got them. They were all cooked.
The Germans won the victories. By God they were
soldiers. The old Hun was a soldier. But they were
cooked too. We were all cooked. I asked about

Russia. He said they were cooked already. I’d
soon see they were cooked. Then the Austrians were
cooked too. If they got some Hun divisions they
could do it. Did he think they would attack this
fall ? Of course they would. The Italians were
cooked. Everybody knew they were cooked. The
old Hun would come down through the Trentino and
cut the railway at Vicenza and then where would the
Italians be ? They tried that in 'sixteen, I said. Not
with Germans. Yes, I said. But they probably
wouldn't do that, he said. It was too simple. They’d
try sometliing complicated and get royally cooked.
I had to go, I said. I had to get back to the hospital.
“Good-bye,” he said. Then cheerily, “Every sort
of luck ! ” There was a great contrast between his
world pessimism and personal cheeriness.

I stopped at a barber shop and was shaved and
went home to the hospital. My leg was as well as
it would get for a long time. I had been up for
examination three days before. There were still
some treatments to take before my course at the
Ospedale Maggiore was finished and I walked along
the side street practising not limping. An old man
was cutting silhouettes under an arcade. I stopped
to watch him. Two girls were posing and he cut
their silhouettes together, snipping very fast and look¬
ing at them, his head on one side. The girls were
giggling. He showed me the silhouettes before he
pasted them on white paper and handed them to the
girls.

“ They're beautiful,” he said. “ How about you.

Tenente ? ” ,

The girls went away looking at their silhouettes and

laughing. They were nice-looking girls. One of them
worked in the wine shop across from the hospital.

“ All right,” I said.

120

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“Take your cap off."

“No. With it on."

“It will not be so beautiful," the old man said.
“But,” he brightened, "it will be more military.”

He snipped away at the black paper, then separated
the two thicknesses and pasted the profiles on a card
and handed them to me.

“ How much ? "

“ That’s all right.” He waved his hand. " I
just made them for you."

“ Please.” I brought out some coppers. “ For
pleasure."

“ No. I did them for a pleasure. Give them to
your girl."

" Many thanks until we meet."

" Until I see thee."

I went on to the hospital. There were some letters,
an official one, and some others. I was to have three
weeks’ convalescent leave and then return to the front.
I read it over carefully. Well, that was that. The
convalescent leave started October fourth when my
course was finished. Three weeks was twenty-one
days. That made October twenty-fifth. I told them
I would not be in, and went to the restaurant a little
way up the street from the hospital for supper and
read my letters and the Corriere della Sera at the
table. There was a letter from my grandfather, con-
taming family news, patriotic encouragement, a draft
for two hundred dollars, and a few clippings ; a dull
letter from the priest at our mess ; a letter from a man
1 knew who was flying with the French and had
gotten in with a wild gang and was telling about it,
^id a note from Rinaldi asking me how long I was
gomg to skulk in Milano and what was all the news ?
He wanted me to bring him phonograph records and
enclosed a list. I drank a small bottle of chianti with
the meal, had a coffee afterward \vith a glass of
cognac, finished the paper, put my letters in my
pocket, left the paper on the table with the tip and
went out.^ In my room at the hospital I undressed,
put on pyjamas and a dressing-gown, pulled down the

121

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

curtains on the door that opened on to the balcony
and sitting up in bed read Boston papers from a pile
Mrs. Meyers had left for her boys at the hospital.
The Chicago White Sox were winning the American
League pennant and the New York giants were lead¬
ing the National League. Babe Ruth was a pitcher
then playing for Boston. The papers were dull, the
news was local and stale, and the war news was all
old. The American news was all training camps. I
was glad I wasn’t in a training camp. The baseball
news was all I could read and I did not have the
slightest interest in it. A number of papers together
made it impossible to read with interest. It was not
very timely but I read at it for a while. I wondered
if America really got into the war, if they would close
down the major leagues. They probably wouldn’t.
There was still racing in Milan and the war could
not be much worse. They had stopped racing in
France. That was where our horse Japalac came
from. Catherine was not due on duty until nine
o’clock. I heard her passing along the floor when
she first came on duty and once saw her pass in the
hall. She went to several other rooms and finally
came into mine.

'■ I’m late, darling,” she said. “There was a lot

to do. How are you ? ”

I told her about my papers and the leave.

“That’s lovely,” she said. “Where do you want
to go ? ”

“ Nowhere. I want to stay here.”

“ That’s silly. You pick a place to go and I’ll
come too.”

“ How will you work it ? ”

“ I don’t know. But I will.”

" You’re pretty wonderful.”

“ No I'm not. But life isn’t hard to manage when
you’ve nothing to lose.”

“ How do you mean ? ”

“ Nothing. I was only thinking^^ how small
obstacles seemed that once were so big.”

“ I should think it might be hard to manage.”

122

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" No it won’t, darling. If necessary I'll simply
leave. But it won’t come to that.”

“ Where should we go ? ”

“ I don’t care. Anywhere you want. Anywhere
we don’t know people.”

" Don’t you care where we go ? ”

“No. I’ll like any place.”

She seemed upset and taut.

“ What’s the matter, Catherine ? ”

“ Nothing, Nothing’s the matter.”

“ Yes there is.”

“ No, nothing. Really nothing.”

I know there is. Tell me, darling. You can tell

“ It’s nothing.”

“TeU me.”

I don’t want to. I’m afraid I’ll make you
unhappy or worry you.”

;; No it won’t.’’

You’re sure ? It doesn’t worry me, but I’m
afraid to worry you.”

It won’t if it doesn't worry you.”

“ I don't want to tell.”

“ TeU it.”

“ Do I have to ? ”

4t

Yes.”

I m going to have a baby, darUng. It’s almost
tnree months along. You’re not worried, are you?
rl^e please don’t. You mustn’t worry.”

AU right.”

“ Is it aU right ? ”

*' Of course.”

Tm not worried.”

aboJt^t^^v'* and I haven’t worried

about It. You mustn’t worry or feel badly.”

, I oidy worry about you.”

have hAhL^^’n mustn’t do. People

a natur^ thi^*® Everybody has babies. It’s

123

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ You’re pretty wonderful/*

“ No I’m not. But you mustn’t mind, darling.
rU tr}' and not make trouble for you. I know I’ve
made trouble before. But haven't I been a good girl
until now ? You never knew it, did you ? ”

“ No.”

” It will all be like that. You simply mustn t
worry. I can see you're worrying. Stop it. Stop
it right away. Wouldn’t you like a drink, darling ?
I know a drink always makes you feel cheerful.”

” No. I feel cheerful. And you're pretty wonder¬
ful.”

" No I’m not. But I’ll fix everything to be to¬
gether if you pick out a place for us to go. It ought
to be lovely in October. We’ll have a lovely time,
darling, and I’ll write you every day while you’re at
the front.”

” Where will you be ? ”

” I don’t know yet. But somewhere splendid.

rU look after all that.” r' ^

We were quiet awhile and did not talk. Catherine

was sitting on the bed and I was looking at her but
we did not touch each other. We were apart as
when someone comes into a room and people are self-
conscious. She put out her hand and took mine.

” You aren’t angry are you, darling .

” And you don’t feel trapped ? ”

” Maybe a little. But not by you.’ , ^ ^ ,

“ I didn’t mean by me. You mustn t be stupid.

I meant trapped at all.” , „

" You always feel trapped biologically.

She went away a long way without stimng or

removing her hand.

” Always isn't a pretty word.

" It*^ ^^ght. But you see I've
and I've never even loved anyone. And I *

be the way you wanted and then you talk about

’ always.' ”

” I could cut off my tongue.

” I offered.

124

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Oh, darling 1 ” she came back from wlierever
she had been. “ You mustn’t mind me." We were
both together again and the self-consciousness was
gone. " We really are the same one and we mustn't
misunderstand on purpose.”

" We won’t.”

" But people do. They love each other and they
misunderstand on purpose and they fight and then
suddenly they aren’t the same one."

” We won't fight.”

” We mustn’t. Because there's only us two and
in the world there’s all the rest of them. If anything
comes between us we’re gone and then they have us.”

They won’t get us,” I said. " Because you’re
too brave. Nothing ever happens to the brave.”

" They die of course.”

" But only once.”

” I don't know. Who said that ? ”

"The coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave
but one ? ”

" Of course. Who said it ? ”

" I don't know.”

"He was probably a coward.” she s&id. "He

about cowards but nothing about
the brave. The brave dies perhaps two thousand
^aths if he s intelligent. He simply doesn't mention

«<

i ’“0"'- It’s hard to see inside the head of
the brave.

X®®'. how they keep that way.”

You re an authority.”

You re right, darling. That was deserved.”

You re brave."

^ No,” she said. “ But I would Uke to be.”
been ^ ^ where I stand. I've

hl's no better ‘^5''

thirtJ^^St-.^ ba^-player that bats two hundred and
uV ® awfully impressive.”

At s not. It means a mediocre hitter in basebaU.”

12S

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" But still a hitter,” she prodded me.

” I guess we’re both conceited,” I said. ” But
you are brave.”

'' No. But I hope to be.”

"We’re both brave,” I said. "And I’m very
brave when I've had a drink.”

" We're splendid people,” Catherine said. She
went over to the armoire and brought me the cognac
and a glass. " Have a drink, darling,” she said.
" You've been awfully good.”

" I don’t really want one.”

" Take one.”

" All right.” I poured the water glass a third full
of cognac and drank it off.

" That was very big,” she said. " I know brandy
is for heroes. But you shouldn't exaggerate.”

" Where will we live after the war ? ”

" In an old people’s home probably,” she said. " For
three years I looked forward very childishly to the war
ending at Christmas. But now I look forward till
when our son will be a lieutenant-commander.”

" Maybe he’ll be a general.”

” If it’s a hundred years’ war he’ll have time to
try both of the services.”

" Don’t you want a drink ? ”

" No. It always makes you happy, darling, and it
only makes me dizzy.”

" Didn’t you ever drink brandy ? ”

" No, darling. I’m a very old-fashioned wife.”

I reached down to the floor for the bottle and poured
another drink.

" I’d better go to have a look at your com¬
patriots,” Catherine said. " Perhaps you’ll read the
papers until I come back.”

" Do you have to go ? ”

" Now or later.”

" All right. Now.”

" I'll come back later.”

" I’ll have finished the papers,” I said.

126

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

CHAPTER XXII

It turned cold that night and the next day it was
raining. Coming home from the Ospedale Maggiore
it rained very hard and I was wet when I came in.
Up in my room the rain was coming down heavily
outside on the balcony, and the wind blew it against
the glass doors. I changed my clothing and drank
some brandy, but the brandy did not taste good. I
felt sick in the night and in the morning after break¬
fast I was nauseated. ■

“There is no doubt about it," the house surgeon
said. “ Look at the whites of his eyes. Miss.”

Miss Gage looked. They had me look in a glass.
The whites of the eyes were yellow and it was the
jaundice. I was sick for two weeks with it. For
that reason we did not spend a convalescent leave to¬
gether. We had planned to go to Pallanza on Lago
Maggiore. It is nice there in the fall when the leaves
turn. There are walks you can take and you can
troll for trout in the lake. It would have been better
than Stresa because there are fewer people at Pal¬
lanza. Stresa is so easy to get to from Milan that
there are always people you know. There is a nice
viUage at Pallanza and you can row out to the islands
where the fishermen live, and there is a restaurant on
the biggest island. But we did not go.

One day while I was in bed with jaundice Miss Van
'-ampen came m the room, opened the door into the
^oire ^d saw the empty bottles there. I had sent
a load of them down by the porter and I believe she
must have seen them going out and come up to find

vermouth bottles,
m^la botties, capn bottles, empty chianti flasks

out porter had carried

a^d tb those that had held vermouth.

SLv hnf H ^ VTu and left the

and I j brandy bottles

nd a bottle shaped like a bear which had held

127

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

kiimmel that Miss Van Campen found. The bear-
shaped bottle enraged her particularly. She held it
up ; the bear was sitting up on his haunches with his
paws up, there was a cork in his glass head, and a
few sticky crystals at the bottom. I laughed.

“ It was kiimmel,” I said. " The best kiimmel
comes in those bear-shaped bottles. It comes from
Russia.”

" Those are all brandy bottles, aren’t they ? ” Miss
Van Campen asked.

" I can't see them all,” I said. " But they prob¬
ably are.”

” How long has this been going on ? ”

” I bought them and brought them in myself,” I
said. " I have had Italian officers visit me fre¬
quently and I have kept brandy to offer them.”

” You haven’t been drinking it yourself ? ” she
said.

" I have also drunk it myself.”

"Brandy,” she said. "Eleven empty bottles of
brandy and that bear liquid."

" Kiimmel.”

" I will send for someone to take them away.
Those are all the empty bottles you have ? ”

" For the moment.”

" And I was pitying you having jaundice. Pity is
something that is wasted on you.”

" Thank you.”

" I suppose you can’t be blamed for not wanting
to go back to the front. But I should think you
would try something more intelligent than producing
jaundice with alcoholism.”

" With what ? ”

" With alcoholism. You heard me say it.” I did
not say anything. " Unless you find something else
I'm afraid you will have to go back to the front when
you are through %vith your jaundice. I don't believe
self-inflicted jaundice entitles you to a convalescent
leave.”

" You don’t ? ”

“ I do not.”

128

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Have you ever had jaundice, Miss Van Campen ? ”
“No, but I have seen a great deal of it.”

“ You noticed how the patients enjoyed it ? ”

“I suppose it is better than the front.”

“ Miss Van Campen,” I said, “ did you ever know
a man who tried to disable himself by kicking himself
in the privates ? ”

Miss Van Campen ignored the actual question. She
had to ignore it or leave the room. She was not
ready to leave because she had disliked me for a long
time and she was now cashing in.

“ I have known many men to escape the front
through self-inflicted wounds.”

That wasn't the question. I have seen self-
mfhcted wounds also. I asked you if you had ever
kno\yn a man who had tried to disable himself by
kicking himself in the privates. Because that is the
newest sensation to jaundice and it is a sensation that
1 believe few women have ever experienced. That
w^ why I asked you if you had ever had jaundice.

Miss Van Campen, because - ” Miss Van Campen left

^ M ^ter Miss Gage came in.

furio^”* you say. to Van Campen? She was

“ We were comparing sensations. I was going to
suggest that she had never experienced childbirth- _ ”

scalp ^ "^^o’s after your

‘ She has my scalp.” I said,
leave and she might try and get
ohes mean enough.”

“She never liked you.” Gae
about ? ” j ,

“ She's lost me my

me court-martialled.
said. “ What's it

not u r ^*0 jaundice so as

not to go back to the front.”

swear you’ve never
taken a Everybody will swear you’ve never

She found the bottles.”

botUra ^ bundred times to clear out those

yiues. Where are they now ? ”

it

129

8

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ In the armoire.”

'* Have you a suitcase ? ”

“ No. Put them in that rucksack."

Miss Gage packed the bottles in the rucksack.
" rU give them to the porter," she said. She started
for the door.

"Just a minute," Miss Van Campen said. "I'll
take those bottles." She had the porter with her.
"Cany them, please,” she said. "I want to show
them to the doctor when I make my report."

She went down the hall. The porter carried the
sack. He knew what was in it.

Nothing happened except that I lost my leave.

CHAPTER XXIII

The night I was to return to the front I sent the
porter down to hold a seat for me on the train when
it came from Turin. The train was to leave at mid¬
night. It was made up at Turin and reached Milan
about half-past ten at night and lay in the station
until time to leave. You had to be there when it
came in to get a seat. The porter took a friend with
him, a machine-gunner on leave who worked in a
tailor shop, and was sure that between them they
could hold a place. I gave tliem money for platform
tickets and had them take my baggage. There was
a big rucksack and two musettes.

I said good-bye at the hospital at about five o'clock
and went out. The porter had my baggage in his
lodge and I told him I would be at the station a little
before midnight. His ^e called me " Signorino "
and cried. She wiped her eyes and shook hands and
then cried again. I patted her on the back and she
cried once more. She had done my mending and was
a very short dumpy happy-faced woman with white
hair. When she cried her whole face went to pieces.
I went do\vn to the comer where there was a wine
shop and waited inside looking out the window. It

130

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

was dark outside and cold and misty. I paid for my
coffee and grappa and I watched the people going
by in the light from the window. I saw Catherine
and knocked on the window. She looked, saw me
and smiled, and I went out to meet her. She was
wearing a dark blue cape and a soft felt hat. We
w^ed along together, along the side-walk past the
wine shops, then across the market square and
up the street and through the archway to
the cathedral square. There were street-car tracks
and beyond them was the cathedral. It was white
and wet in the mist. We crossed the tram tracks.
On the left were the shops, their windows lighted
and the entrance to the galleria. Thpre was a fog in
the square, and when we came dose to the front of
the cathedral it was very big and the stone was wet
“ Would you like to go in ? "

"No,” Catherine said. We walked along. There
was a soldier standing with his girl in the shadow of
one of the stone buttresses ahead of us and we passed

InA were standing tight up against the stone

and he had put his cape around her.

" They're like us.” I said.

'■ Nobody is like us.- Catherine said. She did not
mean it happily.

" I wish they had some place to go.”

It mightn’t do them any good.”

place t^go.”^'''^' o^ght to have some

cathedral." Catherine said. We
were past it now. We crossed the far end of the
squ^e and looked back at the cathedral. It was ffne

in front o7 Se

lather goods shop. There were riding hoots a ruck-
sack and skt boots in the window. Eacra^'ticle was
ap^ ^ an exhibit : the rucksack M Se Ten™

Xr ^TheT‘®th " on the

CsrfsadJ^! “d °il-^d ^-"ooth as a

the duU^Sled SthS
" We’ll ski some time.”

4

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" In two months there will be ski-ing at Murren/'
Catherine said.

" Let's go there.”

” All right,” she said. We went on past other
windows and turned down a side street.

” I've never been this way.”

” This is the way I go to the hospital,” I said. It
was a narrow street and we kept on the right-hand
side. There were many people passing in the fog.
There were shops and all the windows were lighted.
We looked in a window at a pile of cheeses. I
stopped in front of an armourer's shop.

” Come in a minute. I have to buy a gun.”

■' What sort of gun ? ”

” A pistol.” We went in and I unbuttoned my belt
and laid it with the empty holster on the counter.
Two women were behind the counter. The women

brought out several pistols.

” It must fit this,” I said, opening the holster. It
was a grey leather holster and I had bought it second¬

hand to wear in the town.

” Have they good pistols ? ” Catherine asked.

"They’re all about the same. Can I try this
one ? ” I asked the woman.

"I have no place now to shoot,” she said. "But
it is very good. You will not make a mistake with
it.”

I snapped it and pulled back the action. The
spring was rather strong but it worked smootlily. I
sighted it and snapped it again.

" It is used,” the woman said. " It belonged to
an officer who was an excellent shot.”

" Did 3'ou sell it to him ? ”

" Yes.”

" How did you get it back ? ”

" From his orderly.”

" Maybe you have mine,” I said. " How much is
this ? ”

" Fifty lire. It is very cheap.”

" All right. I want two extra clips and a box of

cartridges.”

132

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

She brought them from under the counter,

“ Have you any need for a sword ? ” she asked.
“I have some used swords very cheap,”

” I’m going to the front,” I said.

” Oh, yes, then you won’t need a sword,” she said.

I paid for the cartridges and the pistol, filled the
magazine and put it in place, put the pistol in my
empty holster, filled the extra clips with cartridges
and put them in the leather slots on the holster and
then buckled on my belt. The pistol felt heavy on the
belt. Still, I thought, it was better to have a regu¬
lation pistol. You could always get cartridges.

” Now ^yc're fully armed,” I said. ” That was
the one thing I had to remember to do. Someone
got my other one going to the hospital.”

“I hope it’s a good pistol,” Catherine said.

” Was there anything else ? ” the woman asked.

" I don't believe so.”

I' The pistol has a lanyard.” she said.

"So I noticed.” The woman wanted to sell some-
thmg else.

" You don't need a whistle ? "

" I don’t believe so.”

The woman said good-bye and we went out on to
the side-walk. Catherine looked in the window. The
woman looked out and bowed to us.

those little mirrors set in wood for ? ”
attracting birds. They twirl them
out m the field and larks see them and come out and
the Italians shoot them.”

“ ingenious people," Catherine said.
America?™ “

" Not especially.”

" I feel better now,” Catherine said. " I felt
temble when we started.”

“ ^ways feel good when we’re together.”

We always will be together.”

Yes, except that I’m going away at midnight.”

133

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“Don’t think about it, darling."

We walked on up the street. The fog made the
lights yellow.

“Aren’t you tired? " Catherine asked.

“ How about you ? "

“ I’m all right. It’s fun to walk."

“But let’s not do it too long.”

“No.”

We turned down a side street where there were no
lights and walked in the street. I stopped and kissed
Catherine. W^e I kissed her I felt her hand on my
shoulder. She had pulled my cape around her so it
covered both of us. We were standing in the street
against a high wall.

“ Let’s go some place," I said.

“ Good,” said Catherine. We walked on along the
street until it came out on to a wider street that was
beside a canal. On the other side was a brick wall
and buildings. Ahead, down the street, I saw a
street-car cross a bridge.

“ We can get a cab up at the bridge." I said. We
stood on the bridge in the fog waiting for a carriage.
Several street-cars passed, full of people going home.
Then a carriage came along but there was someone
in it. The fog was turning to rain.

“ We could walk or take a tram," Catherine said.

" One wiU be along,” I said. " They go by here."

“ Here one comes,” she said.

The driver stopped his horse and lowered the metal
sign on his meter. The top of the carriage was up
and there were drops of water on the driver's coat.
His varnished hat was shining in the wet. We sat
back in the seat together and the top of the carriage
made it dark.

“ Where did you tell him to go ? ”

“To the station. There’s a hotel across from the

station where we can go."

' ' We can go the way we are ? Without luggage ?

“ Yes," I said.

It was a long ride to the station up side streets in
the rain.

134

I ' F W

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

” Won't we have dinner ? " Catherine asked. " I'm
afraid I’ll be hun^y.”

“ We’ll have it in our room.”

"I haven’t anything to wear. I haven’t even a
nightgo\vn.”

” We’ll get one,” I said, and called to the driver.

” Go to the Via Manzoni and up that.” He nodded
and turned off to the left at the next corner. On the
big street Catherine watched for a shop.

“Here’s a place,” she said. I stopped the driver
and Catherine got out, walked across the sidewalk
and went inside. I sat back in the carriage and
waited for her. It was raining and I could smell
the wet street and the horse steaming in the rain.
She came back with a package and got in and we
drove on.

“ I was very extravagant, darling,” she said. “ but
It s a fine nightgown.”

At the hotel I asked Catherine to wait in the car¬
nage while I went in and spoke to the manager. There
were plenty of rooms. Then I went out to the car¬
nage, paid the driver, and Catherine and I walked in
together. The small boy in buttons carried the pack¬
age. The manager bowed us toward the elevator
There was much red plush and brass. The manager
went up zn the elevator with us.

rooi^°-^^^^ Madame vdsh dinner in their

I said^^' have the menu brought up ? ”

t ^ click each

time then clicked and stopped.

What have you as game ? ”

I could get a pheasant, or a woodcock.”

^ down the

doSf Th ® There were many

SropeSi it ^

Here you are. A lovely room.”

135

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

The small boy in buttons put the package on the
table in the centre of the room. The manager
opened the curtains.

“ It is foggy outside,” he said. The room was
furnished in red plush. There were many mirrors,
two chairs and a large bed with a satin coverlet. A
door led to the bathroom.

” I will send up the menu,” the manager said. He

bowed and went out.

I went to the window and looked out, then pulled
a cord that shut the thick plush curtains. Catherine
was sitting on the bed looking at the cut-gla^
chandelier. She had taken her hat off and her hair
shone under the light. She saw herself in one of the
mirrors and put her hands to her hair. I saw her in
three other mirrors. She did not look happy. She
let her cape fall on the bed.

” mat's the matter, darling ? ”

“ I never felt like a whore before, she said. 1
went over to the window and pulled the curtain aside
and looked out. I had not thought it would be like

this.

“ You’re not a whore. . . r , r,

“ I know it. darling. But it isn t nice to feel like

one.” Her voice was dry and flat. ^ - .,

“ This was the best hotel we could get in, I said.
I looked out the window. Across the square were the
lights of the station. There were images gomg by
on the street and I saw the trees in the park fhe
lights from the hotel shone on the wet pavement. Uh.
hell I thought, do we have to argue now ?

" Come over here, please," Cathenne said. The
flatness was all gone out of her voice Come over
please. I'm a good girl again.’ I looked over at

the bed. She was smiling. , j , . i u

I went over and sat on the bed beside her and

kissed her.

" You’re my good girl.

Hi sr, ..d «...

felt v.ry happy, and in a little time the room felt

136

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

like our own home. My room at the hospital had
been our own home and this room was our home too
in the same way,

Catherine wore my tunic over her shoulders while
we ate. We were very hungry and the meal was
good and we drank a bottle of capri and a bottle
of St. Estephe. I drank most of it but Catherine
drank some and it made her feel splendid. For dinner
we had a woodcock with souffle potatoes and puree de
marron, a salad and zabaione for dessert.

“It's a fine room,” Catherine said. " It's a lovely

room. We should have stayed here all the time we’ve
been in Milan.”

“ It's a funny room. But it’s nice.”

„ ^ wonderful thing,” Catherine said.

the people who go in for it seem to have good
taste about it. The red plush is really fine. It’s just

“f. Tr mirrors are very attractive.”

You re a lovely girl.”

“I don't know how a room like this would be for

rnnm ” T moming. But it’s reaUy a splendid

room. I poured another glass of St. Estephe.

something really sinful.”
wlT f'-- Everything we do Lms »

wreng" anything

You're a grand girl.”

^ I only feel hungry. I get terribly hungry.”

You re a fine simple girl.” I saidf •

exceptTou/’'"^^^^ ^"^erstood it

thinSn? how V I spent an afternoon

eeSer fn^T to the Hotel Cavour to-

getner ana how it would be/'

Cavowis Tf? " of you. This isn't the

“ Thev'il''rtl o® ‘hore."

differ r ‘“0 o® “ some time. But that’s how we

“ ^ “'ought about anything."

« 7^^ ^ ever at all ? ” ^ ®

A little,” she said.

137

t

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Oh you’re a lovely girl.”

I poured another glass of wine.

” I'm a very simple girl,” Catherine said.

” I didn’t think so at first. I thought you were a
crazy girl.”

” I was a little crazy. But I wasn't crazy in any
complicated manner. I didn’t confuse you, did I,
darling ? ”

” Wine is a grand thing,” I said. " It makes you
forget all the bad.”

“It’s lovely,” said Catherine. "But it’s given
my father gout very badly.”

” Have you a father ? ”

“ Yes,” said Catherine. ” He has gout. You won't
ever have to meet him. Haven’t you a father ?

” No,” I said. ” A step-father.”

” WiU I Uke him ? ”

" You won’t have to meet him.” t

We have such a fine time/^ Catherine said* I
don’t take any interest in anything else any more.

I’m so very happy married to you.”

The waiter came and took away the things. Alter
a while we were very still and we could hear the rain.
Down below on the street a motor-car honked.

, |1 ” ‘ And always at my back I hear

i/ ) Time’s winged chariot hurrying near,

I said

“ I know that poem,” Catherine said. ” It’s by
Marvell. But it’s about a girl who wouldn't live with

^ M^head felt very clear and cold and I wanted to
talk facts.

Where will you have the baby i
" I don’t know. The best place I can find.”

“ How will you arrange it ? ”

“The best way I can. Don’t worry, darling. \Ne
may have several babies before the war is over.”

•'It’s nearly time to go.” ,

“ I know. You can make it time if you want.

” No.” (

138/

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Then don't worry, darling. You were fine until
now and now you are worrying.”

” I won’t. How often will you write ? ”

“ Every day. Do they read your letters ? ”

" They can’t read English enough to hurt any.”
''I’ll make them very confusing,” Catherine said.
” But not too confusing.”

‘‘I’ll just make them a little confusing.”

" I’m afraid we have to start to go.”

“ All right, darling.”

” I hate to leave our fine house.”

“So do I.”

*' But we have to go.”

” All right. But we’re never settled in our home
very long.”

“ We will be.”

‘ I’ll have a fine home for you when you come back.”
“Maybe I’ll be back right away.”

“Perhaps you'll be hurt just a little in the foot.”
Or the lobe of the ear.”

No. I want your ears the way they are.”

And not my feet ? ”

‘ Your feet have been hit already.”

“ We have to go, darling. Really.”

“All right. You go first.”

CHAPTER XXIV

taking the

devator The cayet on the stairs was worn. I had paid

“P and the waiter, Uo
adtmg on a chair near the door.

the bowed and I went with him into

tte side room and paid the bill for the room. The

oa™fnt "f'nembered me as a friend and refused

re^hL ^ ke retired he had

membered to have the waiter stationed at the door

f ^tkout paying. I sup-

had so moTf bap^ned ; even with his friends. One
naa so many fnends in a war.

139

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

I asked the waiter to get us a carriage and he took
Catherine’s package that I was carrying and went out
with an umbrella. Outside through the window we
saw him crossing the street in the rain. We stood
in the side room and looked out the window.

“ How do you feel. Cat ? ”

“ Sleepy.”

” I feel hollow and hungry.”

” Have you anything to eat ? ”

“ Yes, in my musette.”

I saw the carriage coming. It stopped, the horse’s
head hanging in the rain, and the waiter stepped out,
opened his umbrella, and came toward the hotel. We
met him at the door and walked out under the
umbrella down the wet walk to the carriage at the
curb. Water was running in the gutter.

” There is your package on the seat,” the waiter
said. He stood with the umbrella until we were in
and I had tipped him.

” Many thanks. Pleasant journey.” he said.
The coachman lifted the reins and the horse started.
The waiter turned away under the umbrella and went
toward the hotel. We drove down the street and
turned to the left, then came around to tlie right in
front of the station. There were two carabinieri
standing under the light just out of the rain. The
light shone on their hats. The rain fell clear and
transparent against the light from the station. A
porter came out from under the shelter of the station,

his shoulders up against the rain.

“No,” I said. “Thanks, I don’t need thee.

He went back under the shelter of the archway. I
turned to Catherine. Her face was in the shadow
from the hood of the carriage.

“ We might as well say good-bye.”

“ I can’t go in ? ”

“ bio.”

“ Good-bye, Cat.”

“ Will you tell him the hospital ?

“ Yes.”

I told the driver the address to drive to. He nodded.

140

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Good-bye,” I said. "Take good care of your¬
self and young Catherine."

" Good-bye, darling.”

"Good-bye,” I said. I stepped out into the rain
and the carriage started. Catherine leaned out and I
saw her face in the light. She smiled and waved
The carriage went up the street ; Catherine pointed
m toward the archway. I looked, there were only
the two carabinieri and the archway. I realized slie
meant for me to get in out of the rain. I went in
and stood and watched the carriage turn the corner,
then I started through the station and down the run¬
way to the train. *

The porter was on the platform looking for me. I
foUowed him into the train, crowding past people and
along the aisle and in through a door to where the
machine-gunner sat in the comer of a full compart¬
ment. My rucksack and musettes were above his

"i^ny men

^anding m the corndor and the men in the compart-
ment all looked at us when we came in. There were

train and every one was
c ® machine-gunner stood up for me to sit
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I
looked around. It was a very taU gaunt captain of

t looked

the corridor and then come in.

do you say ? I asked. I had turned and

$7- - “'«■«-

" You can’t do that,” he said. " You can't have
a soldier save you a place.”

I have done it.”

141

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

** What do you want ? "

“ The seat."

" So do I.”

I watched his face and could feel the whole com¬
partment against me. I did not blame them. He
was in the right. But I wanted the seat. Still no
one said anything.

Oh, hell, I thought.

" Sit down. Signor Capitano," I said. The
machine-gunner moved out of the way and the tall
captain sat down. He looked at me. His face
seemed hurt. But he had the seat. " Get my
things," I said to the machine-gunner. We went out
in the corridor. The train was full and I knew there
was no chance of a place. I gave the porter and
the machine-gunner ten lire apiece. They went down
the corridor and outside on the platform, looking in
the \vindows, but there were no places.

" Maybe some will get off at Brescia," the porter
said.

" More will get on at Brescia," said the machine-
gunner. I said good-bye to them and we shook hands
and they left. They both felt badly. Inside the train
we were all standing in the corridor when the train
started. I watched the lights of the station and the
yards as we went out. It was still raining and soon
the windows were wet and you could not see out.
Later I slept on the floor of the corridor ; first putting
my pocket-book with my money and papers in it in¬
side my shirt and trousers so that it was inside the leg
of my breeches. I slept all night, waking at Brescia
and Verona when more men got on the train, but go¬
ing back to sleep at once. I had my head on one of the
musettes and my arms around the other and I could
feel the pack, and they could all walk over me if they
wouldn’t step on me. Men were sleeping on the floor
all down the corridor. Others stood holding on to
the window rods or leaning against the doors. That
train was always crowded.

142

4

^OOK THREE

CHAPTER XXV

Now in the fall the trees were all bare and the roads

were muddy. I rode to Gorizia from Udine on a

camion. We passed other camions on the road and

I looked at the country. The mulberry trees were

bare and the fields were brown. There were wet

dead leaves on the road from the rows of bare trees

and men were working on the road, tamping stone in

the ruts from piles of crushed stone along the side of

the road between the trees. We saw the town with a

mist over it that cut off the mountains. We crossed

the liver and I saw that it was running high. It had

been raining in the mountains. We came into the

to^ past the factories and then the houses and villas

and I saw that many more houses had been hit. On

a narrow street we passed a British Red Cross

ambulance. The dnver wore a cap and his face was

thin and very tanned. I did not know him. I got

camion in the big square in front of

the Town Major s house ; the driver handed down mv

incksack and I put it on and swung on the two

musettes and walked to our villa. I did not feel like
a home-coming.

the damp gravel driveway looking
Suf windows were I

older and drier.

.. ip " How is everything ? ”

sit dlL^ kit and

the floor and my cap on the pack. I brought the other
chair over from the waJl and sat down by the dS?

143

How are you ? " He looked

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" It's been a bad summer/’ the major said. “ Are
you strong now ? ”

" Yes.”

” Did you ever get the decorations ? ”

” Yes. I got them fine. Thank you very much.”
” Let's see them."

I opened my cape so he could see the two
ribbons.

“ Did you get the boxes with the medals ? ”

“ No. Just the papers.”

“ Tile boxes will come later. That takes more
time.”

” What do you wish me to do ? ”

” The cars are all away. There are six up north
at Caporetto. You know Caporetto ? ”

” Yes,” I said. I remembered it as a little white
town with a campanile in a valley. It was a clean
little town and there was a fine fountain in the square.

" They are working from there. There are many
sick now. The fighting is over.”

” Where are the others ? ”

“There are two up in the mountains and four still
on the Bainsizza. The other two ambulance sections
are in the Carso with the third army.”

" What do you wish me to do ? ”

" You can go and take over the four cars on the
Bainsizza if you like. Gino has been up there a long
time. You haven’t seen it up there, have you ? ”

'■ No.”

” It was very bad. We lost three cars.”

” I heard about it.”

” Yes, Rinaldi wrote you.”

” Where is Rinaldi ? ”

” He is here at the hospital. He has had a summer
and fall of it.”

'' I believe it.”

” It has been bad,” the major said. ” ou couldn t
believe how bad it's been. I've often thought you
were lucky to be liit when you were.”

“ I know I was.” . ^

“ Next year will be worse,” the major said. Fer-

144

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

haps they will attack, now. They say they are to
attack, but I can’t believe it. It is too late. You
saw the river ? "

" Yes. It's high already.”

” I don't believe they will attack now that the rains
have started. We will have the snow soon. Wliat
about your countrymen ? Will there be other
Americans besides yourself ? ”

" They are training an army of ten million.”

” I hope w'e get some of them. But the French
will hog them We’ll never get any down iiere.
All right. You stay here to-night and go out to¬
morrow with the little car, and send Gino back. I’ll
send somebody with you that knows the road. Gino
will tell you everything. They are shelling quite a
little still, but it is all over. You will want to see
the Bainsizza.”

I'm glad to see it. I am glad to be back with you
again, Si^ior Maggiore.”

He smiled. ” You are very good to say so. I am

war. If I was away I do not
beheve I would come back.”

” Is it so bad ? ”

Yes. It is so bad and worse. Go get cleaned
up and find your friend Rinaldi.”

I went out and carried my bags up the stairs.
Kinaldi was not in the room but his things were
tnere, and I sat down on the bed and unwrapped niv
puttees and took the shoe off my right foot. Then I
lay back on the bed. I was tired and my right foot
h^t. It seemed silly to lie on the bed with one shoe
on, so 1 sat up and unlaced the other shoe and dropped
U on the floor, then lay back on the blanket again.
Ihe room was stuffy mth the window closed, but I

“P ‘t* I saw my things

Outside it was

CathftS ^ thought about

I was going to try
went about Catherine, except at night before I

nothine tn was

g to do, so I lay and thought about her. I was

145

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

thinking about her when Rinaldi came in. He looked
just the same. Perhaps he was a little thinner.

“ Well, baby,” he said. I sat up on the bed. He
came over, sat down and put his arm around me.
” Good old baby.” He whacked me on the back and
I held both his arms.

“Old baby,” he said. “Let me see your knee.”

“I'll have to take off my breeches.”

“Take off your breeches, baby. WeTe all friends
here. I want to see what kind of a job they did.” I
stood up. took off the breeches and pulled off the knee-
brace. Rinaldi sat on the floor and bent the knee
gently back and forth. He ran his finger along the
scar ; put his thumbs together over the kneecap and
rocked the knee gently with his fingers.

“ Is that all the articulation you have ? ”

“ Yes.”

“ It’s a crime to send you back. They ought to get
complete articulation.”

“ It’s a lot better than it was. It was stiff as a

board.”

Rinaldi bent it more. I watched his hands. He
had fine surgeon's hands. I looked at the top of his
head, his hair shiny and parted smoothly. He bent
the knee too far.

“Ouch I” I said.

“ You ought to have more treatment on it with the
machines,” Rinaldi said.

“ It’s better than it was.”

I see tliat, baby. This is something I know more
about than you.”^ He stood up and sat down on the
bed. “The kne^ itself is a good job.” He was
through with the knee. “Tell me all about every-

There's nothing to tell,” I said. " I've led a

^ “ You act like a married man,” he said. “ What's
the matter with you ? ”

“Nothing,” I said. “What's the matter with
you ?

“ This war is killing me,” Rinaldi said, “ I am

146

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

very depressed by it." He folded his hands over his
knee.

"Oh" I said.

" What's the matter ? Can’t I even have human
impulses ? "

"No. I can see you’ve been having a fine time.
Tell me."

"All summer and all fall I've operated. I work
all the time. I do everybody's work. All the hard
ones they leave to me. By God, baby, I am becom¬
ing a lovely surgeon."

" That sounds better."

" I never think. No, by God. I don't think ; I
operate."

" That's right."

"But now, baby, it's all over. I don't operate
now and I feel like hell. This is a terrible war, baby.
You believe me when I say it. Now cheer me up.
Bid you bring the phonograph records ? "

"Yes."

They were wrapped in paper in a cardboard box in
my rucksack. I was too tired to get them out.

"Don't you feel good yourself, baby ? "

" I feel like hell."

“ This war is terrible," Rinaldi said. " Come on.
Well both get dnmk and be cheerful. Then we'll
go get the ashes dragged. Then we’ll feel fine."

I ve had the jaundice.” I said. " and I can’t get
drunk."

Oh, baby, how you've come back to me. You

come back serious and with a liver. I tell you this

thing. Why did we make it anyway ? "

K * ,,, ^ drink. I don’t want to get drunk

but we’ll have a drink."

Rinaldi went across the room to the washstand and
brought back two glasses and a bottle of cognac.

Tf» Austnan cognac," he said. "Seven stars.

captured on San Gabriele."

Were you up there ? "

all ^ haven’t been anywhere. I’ve been here
au the time operatmg. Look, baby, that is your old

147

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

tooth-brushing glass. I kept it all the time to remind
me of you.”

"To remind you to brush your teeth.”

“No. I have my own too. I kept this to remind
me of you trying to brush away the Villa Rossa from
your teetli in the morning, swearing and eating aspirin
and cursing harlots. Every time I see that glass I
think of you trying to clean your conscience with a
toothbrush.” He came over to the bed. "Kiss me
once and tell me you’re not serious.”

” I never kiss you. You’re an ape.”

” I know, you are the fine good Anglo-Saxon boy.
I know. You are the remorse boy, I know. I will
wait till I see the Anglo-Saxon brushing away harlotry
with a toothbrush.”

” Put some cognac in the glass.”

We touched glasses and drank. Rinaldi laughed at
me.

“ I will get you drunk and take out your liver and
put you in a good Italian liver and make you a man
again.”

I held the glass for some more cognac. It was
dark outside now. Holding the glass of cognac, I
went over and opened the window. The rain had
stopped falling. It was colder outside and there was
a mist in the trees.

” Don’t throw the cognac out the window,”
Rinaldi said. ” If you can’t drink it give it to me.”

” Go and drown yourself,” I said. I was glad to
see Rinaldi again. He had spent two years teasing
me and I had always liked it. We understood each
other very well.

” Are you married ? ” he asked from the bed. I
was standing against the wall by the window.

"Not yet.”

" Are you in love ? ”

“ Yes.”

" With that English girl ? ”

" Yes.”

" Poor baby. Is she good to you ? ”

” Of course,”

148

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

(9 \

“ I mean is she good to you practically speaking ? '*
“ Shut up/’

“ I will. You will see I am a man of extreme
delicacy. Does she - ? "

" Rinin,” I said, " please shut up. If you want
to be my friend shut up."

" I don't want to be your friend, baby, I am your
friend.”

“Then shut up.”

“AU right.”

I went over to the bed and sat down beside Rinaldi.
He was holding his glass and looking at the floor.

*' You see how it is, Rinin ? "

" Oh, yes. All my life I encounter sacred subjects.
But very few with you. I suppose you must have
them too,” He looked at the floor.

” You haven’t any ? "

"No.”

"Not any ? ”

" No.”

I can say this about your mother and that about
your sister ? ”

sister.” Rinaldi said swiftly.
We both laughed. ^

" The old superman,” I said.

“I am jealous maybe/’ Rinaldi said.

No, you're not.”

I don t mean like that, I mean sometliing ebe.
Have you any married friends ? ”

;; Yes.” I said.

eachother/- ’*’”

Why not ? ”

" They don’t like me.”

Why not ? ”

;; I am the snalce. I am the snake of reason."

if gettmg it mixed. The apple was reason.”
•« Yft’ ^ snake." He was more cheerful.

I said deeply,”

I love you, baby, he said. " You puncture me

149

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

when I become a great Italian thinker. But I know
many things I can't say. I know more than you."

“ Yes. You do.”

” But you will have a better time. Even with
remorse you will have a better time.”

" I don't think so.”

” Oh, yes. That is true. Already I am only happy
when I am working.” He looked at the floor again.

” You’ll get over that.”

” No. I only like two other things : one is bad for
my work and the other is over in half an hour or
fifteen minutes. Sometimes less.”

” Sometimes a good deal less.”

'* Perhaps I have improved, baby. You do not
know. But there are only the two things and my
work.”

” You’ll get other things.”

“No. We never get anything. We are bom with
all we have and we never learn. We never get any¬
thing new. We all start complete. You ^ould be
glad not to be a Latin.” ^

“ There's no such thing as a Latin. That is
‘ Latin ’ thinking. You are so proud of your
defects.” Rinaldi looked up and laughed.

“ We'll stop, baby. I am tired from thinking so
much.” He had looked tired when he came in. “ It’s
nearly time to eat. I'm glad you’re back. You are
my best friend and my war brother.”

“ When do the war brothers eat ? ” I asked.

“ Right away. We'll drink once more for your
liver’s sake.”

“ Like Saint Paul.”

“ You are inaccurate. That was wine and the
stomach. Take a little wine for your stomach's sake.”

“ Whatever you have in the bottle,” I said. “ For
any sake you mention.”

“ To your girl,” Rinaldi said. He held out his
glass.

“All right.”

” I’ll never say a dirty thing about her."

” Don’t strain yourself.”

150

\ t V

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

He drank off the cognac. ” I am pure,” he said.
“ I am like you, baby. I will get an English girl
too. As a matter of fact I knew your girl first but
she was a little tall for me. A tall girl for a sister,’*
he quoted.

“ You have a lovely pure mind,” I said.

” Haven't I ? That’s why they call me Rinaldo
Purissimo.”

" Rinaldo Sporchissimo.”

" Come on, baby, we’ll go down to eat while my
mind is still pure.”

I washed, combed my hair and we went down the
stairs. Rinaldi was a little drunk. In the room
where we ate, the meal was not quite ready.

“ rU go get the bottle,” Rinaldi said. He went
off up the stairs. I sat at the table and he came back
with the bottle and poured us each a half tumbler of
cognac.

“ Too much,” I said, and held up the glass and
sighted at the lamp on the table.

” Not for an empty stomach. It is a wonderful
thing. It burns out the stomach completely. Nothing
is worse for you.”

“All right.”

"Self-destruction day by day,” Rinaldi said. "It
ruins the stomach and makes the hand shake. Just
the thing for a surgeon.”

" You recommend it ? ”

" Heartily. I use no other. Drink it down, baby,
and look forward to being sick.”

I drank half the glass. In the hall I could hear
the orderly caUing, ” Soup ! Soup is ready 1 ”

The major came in, nodded to us and sat down. He
seemed very small at table.

f^is all we are ? ” he asked. The orderly put
the soup bowl down and he ladled out a plateful.

We are all,” Rinaldi said. “Unless the priest

comes. If he knew Federico was here he would be
here.”

“ Where is he ? ” I asked.

He s at 307,” the major said. He was busy

151

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

with his soup. He wiped his mouth, wiping his up¬
turned grey moustache carefully. “ He will come I
think. I called them and left word to tell him you
were here.”

” I miss the noise of the mess,” I said.

” Yes, it’s quiet,” the major said.

'■ I will be noisy," said Rinaldi.

” Drink some wine, Enrico," said the major. He
filled my glass. The spaghetti came in and we were
all busy. We were finishing the spaghetti when the
priest came in. He was the same as ever, small and
brown and compact-looking. I stood up and we
shook hands. He put his hand on my shoulder.

” I came as soon as I heard," he said.

" Sit down," the major said. " You’re late."

" Good evening, priest," Rinaldi said, using the
English word. They had taken that up from tlie
priest-baiting captain who spoke a little English.
” Good evening, Rinaldi," the priest said. The
orderly brought him soup but he said he would start
with the spaghetti.

” How are you ? ” he asked me.

” Fine,” I said. " How have things been ? "

"Drink some wine, priest," Rinaldi said. "Take
a little wine for your stomach’s sake. That’s Saint
Paul, you know."

" Yes, I know,” said the priest politely. Rinaldi
filled liis glass.

"That Saint Paul," said Rinaldi. "He’s the one
who makes all the trouble." The priest looked at
me and smiled. I could see the bailing did not touch
him now.

"That Saint Paul," Rinaldi said. "He was a
rounder and a chaser and then when he was no longer
hot he said it was no good. When he was finished
he made the rules for us who are still hot. Isn’t it
true, Federico ? ”

The major smiled. We were eating meat stew now.

" I never discuss a Saint after dark," I said. The
priest looked up from the stew and smiled at nie.

" There he is, gone over with the priest," Rinaldi

152

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

said. ” Wliere are ail the good old priest-baiters ?
Where is Cavalcanti ? Where is Brundi ? Where is
Cesare ? Do I have to bait this priest alone without
support ? ’ '

“ He is a good priest,” said the major.

“He is a good priest,” said Rinaldi. “But still
a priest. I try to make the mess like the old days.
I want to make Federico happy. To hell \vith you,
priest ! ”

I saw the major look at him and notice that he was

drunk. His thin face was white. The line of his liair

was very black against the white of his forehead.

“It's all right. Rinaldi,” said the priest. “It’s
all right.”

"To hell with you,” said Rinaldi. “To hell with
the whole damn business.” He sat back in his
chair.

“He's been under a strain and he’s tired,” the
major said to me. He finished his meat and wiped up
the gravy with a piece of bread.

^ “I don’t give a damn.” Rinaldi said to the table.

10 hell with the whole business.” He looked

defiantly pound the table, his eyes flat, his face pale.

All nght, I said. “ To hell with the whole
damn business.

Rinaldi. “ You can’t do it. You

^ say you can't do it. You’re dry and

youre empty and there’s nothing else. There’s

nothing else I teU you. Not a dimned thine I
know, when I stop working ” “^nea tnmg. 1

to'tKri<Sr tnmed

Thursday.” the priest said.

of Our the body

Austrian ^ know. It’s dead

what you’re eating.”

Pleting a: dd

Rinaldi laughed. He filled his glass.

153

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

"Don't mind me," he said. "I'm just a little
crazy."

" You ought to have a leave," the priest said.

The major shook his head at him. Rinaldi looked
at the priest.

" You think I ought to have a leave ? "

The major shook his head at the priest. Rinaldi
was looking at the priest.

"Just as you like," the priest said. "Not if you
don’t want,”

" To hell with you," Rinaldi said. " They try to
get rid of me. Every night they try to get rid of me.
I fight them off. What if I have it. Everybody has
it. The whole world’s got it. First,” he went on,
assuming the manner of a lecturer, " it’s a little
pimple. Then we notice a rash between the
shoulders. Then we notice nothing at all. We put our
faith in mercury,”

" Or salvarsan,” the major interrupted quietly.

" A mercurial product," Rinaldi said. He acted
very elated now. " I know something worth two
of that. Good old priest,” he said. " You’ll never
get it. Baby will get it. It's an industrial accident.
It's a simple industrial accident."

The orderly brought in the sweet and coffee. The
sweet was a sort of black bread pudding with hard
sauce. The lamp was smoking ; the black smoke go¬
ing close up inside the chimney.

"Bring two candles and take away the lamp," the
major said. The orderly brought two lighted candles
each in a saucer, and took out the lamp blowing it
out. Rinaldi was quiet now. He seemed all right.
We talked and after the coffee we all went out into
the hall,

" You want to talk to the priest. I have to^ go in
the town," Rinaldi said. " Good night, priest.”

" Good night, Rinaldi." the priest said.

" I'll see you, Fredi," Rinaldi said.

“ Yes," I said. " Come in early.” He made a
face and went out the door. The major was standing
with us. " He's very tired and ovenvorked,” he

154

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

said. " He thinks too he has syphilis. I don't
believe it but he may have. He is treating himself

for it. Good night. You will leave before daylight
Enrico ? ”

44

Yes.”

“Good-bye then.” he said. "Good luck.
Peduzzi will wake you and go with you.”

“ Good-bye, Signor Maggiore.”

” Good-bye. They talk about an Austrian offensive
but 1 don t beUeve it. I hope not. But anyway it
won t be here. Gino will tell you everything. The
telephone works well now.”
ru call regularly,”

“ Please do. Good night. Don’t let Rinaldi drink
so much brandy.”

“ rU try not to.”

Good night, priest.”

Good night, Signor Maggiore.”

He went off into his office.

44

44

CHAPTER XXVI

had stopped

raining but there was a mist

;; Should we go upstairs ? ” I asked the priest
I can only stay a little while.” ^

Come on up.”

■■ .11 J 'r. are you really ? ”

" f J ™ to-night.” ^

too. but from no cause.”

^at about the war? ”

but I ^ I don't know why,

!! How do you feel it ? ”
peop^^]^ ^ ^ ^

I feel that way mys^/* I said.

155

49

44

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" It has been a terrible summer," said the priest.
He was surer of himself now than when I had gone
away. " You cannot believe how it has been.
Except that you have been there and you know how
it can be. Many people have realized the war this
summer. Officers whom I thought could never
realize it realize it now."

" What will happen ? " I stroked the blanket with
my hand.

" I do not know but I do not think it can go on
much longer."

" What will happen ? "

" They will stop fighting.”

" WTo ? "

" Both sides.”

" I hope so,” I said.

" You don’t believe it ? ”

" I don’t believe both sides will stop fighting at
once."

" I suppose not. It is too much to expect. But
when I see the changes in men I do not think it can
go on.”

" Who won the fighting this summer ? ”

" No one."

" The Austrians won," I said. " They kept them
from taking San Gabriele. They’ve won. They
won't stop fighting.”

"If they feel as we feel they may stop. Ihey
have gone through the same thing.”

" No one ever stopped when they were winning.”

" You discourage me.”

” I can only say what I think.”

" Then you think it will go on and on ? Nothing

. will ever happen ? ”

" I don’t know. I only think the Austrians wm
not stop when they have won a victory. It is in
defeat that we become Christian.”

“ The Austrians are Christians — except for the

Bosnians.” . . t n

" I don’t mean technically Christian. I mean like

Our Lord.”

156

• A FAREWELL TO ARMS

He said nothing.

We are all gentler now because we are beaten.
How would Our Lord have been if Peter had rescued
Him in the Garden ? ”

" He would have been just the same.”

“I don't think so,” I said.

“You discourage me,” he said. ”I believe and I

pray that something will happen. I have felt it very
close. ^

“ Something may happen,” I said. “ But it will

happen only to us. If they felt the way we do. it

would be all nght. But they have beaten us. They
feel another way." ^

this way.

It IS not because they were beaten.” ^

'They were beaten to start with. They were

them"''ir fh" ^ took them from their farms Ld put
^em in the army. That is why the peasant has

J^dom, because he is defeated from the start. Put
him in power and see how wise he is.”

anything. He was thinking.

Wow I am depressed myself,” I said. *' That’s

^ ^ thiL

^ ^ to talk I say the things I have

fo,md out m my mind without thinking.” ®

" Defcat ®''"'®thing.”

" No. Something more."

m/be worse/* It

" Me too'^**^” ® ''ictory.”

€t
ti

4t

Now I don't know.”

V® the other.”

I don'J “ore-"

it .^y beuen”^ ^

« T ^t do you believe in > ”

„ tn sleep,” I said. He stood up.

like so to ^

Though

157

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ It is very nice to talk again. I said that about
sleeping, meaning nothing.”

We stood up and shook hands in the dark.

” I sleep at 307 now,” he said.

" I go out on post early to-morrow.”

" I’ll see you when you come back.”

” We’ll have a walk and talk together.” I walked
with him to the door.

" Don’t go down,” he said. " It is very nice that
you are back. Though not so nice for you.” He
put his hand on my shoulder.

” It’s all right for me,” I said. ” Good night.”

" Good night. Ciaou I ”

” Ciaou ! ” I said. I was deadly sleepy.

CHAPTER XXVII

I WOKE when Rinaldi came in but he did not talk and
I went back to sleep again. In the morning I w^
dressed and gone before it was light. Rinaldi did
not wake when I left.

I had not seen the Bainsizza before and it was
strange to go up the slope where the Austrians had
been, beyond the place on the river where I had been
wounded. There was a steep new road and many
trucks. Beyond the road flattened out and I saw
woods and steep hills in the mist. There were woods
that had been taken quickly and not smashed. Then
beyond where the road was not protected by the hills
it was screened by matting on the sides and over the
top. The road ended in a wrecked village. The
Lines were up beyond. There was much artillery
around. The houses were badly smashed but things
were very well organized and there were signboards
everywhere. We found Gino and he got us some
coffee and later I went with him and met various
people and saw the posts. Gino said the British cars
were working farther down the Bainsizza at Ravne.
He had great admiration for the British. There was
still a certain amount of shelling, he said, but not

158

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

many wounded. There would be many sick now the

rains had started. The Austrians were supposed to

attack but he did not believe it. We were supposed

to attack too, but they had not brought up any new

troops so he thought that was off too. Food was

scarce and he would be glad to get a full meal in

Gonzia. TOat kmd of supper had I had ? I told

mm and he said that would be wonderful He was

specially impressed by the dolce. I did not describe

It in detail, only said it was a dolce, and I think

he beheved it was something more elaborate than
bread pudding.

diS''t was going to go ? I said I

^an t but that some of the other cars were at

Caporetto. He hoped he would go up that wav It

was a „,ee little place and he liked the high Snt Jn

M :ls‘”at San"‘r -h “f it -ally had^b“.:

X ^ ^ Gabnele and the attack beyond Lorn
that had gone bad. He said the Austrians had a ereat

b^nnH^ of artmery in the woods along Temova ridge

& the%oad™rdly ft

us“ali:‘'tirfd"H ““ instanTrTtty

enormous. He showS^mp burst were

piece of metal otlr a foot" j^^ged

babbiting metal. looked like

••Bu\tSy s™rme‘''TteTalT

pame directly for you.^ Thwe^rthf h'™®*'

instantly the shriek and buSt

Dot bemg wnnnHpH jf ^at s the use of

now and some Maevars op^SsiTe us

attacking positions®^ Th.r° >“ the

and no plfce to faU °<

Austrian^ttatt.

fine positions for

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

defence along the low mountains that came up out
of the plateau but nothing had been done about
organizing them for defence. What did I think about
the Bainsizza anyway ?

I had expected it to be flatter, more like a plateau.
I had not realized it was so broken up.

“Alto piano," Gino said, “but no piano."

We went back to the cellar of the house where he
lived. I said I thought a ridge that flattened out on
top and had a little depth would be easier and more
practical to hold than a succession of small moun¬
tains. It was no harder to attack up a mountain
than on the level, I argued. “ That depends on the
mountains," he said. “Look at San Gabriele."

“ Yes," I said, “ but where they had trouble was
at the top where it was flat. They got up to the top
easy enough."

“ Not so easy," he said.

“ Yes," I said, “ but that was a special case be¬
cause it was a fortress rather than a mountain any¬
way. The Austrians had been fortifying it for years."
I meant tactically speaking in a war where there was
some movement. A succession of mountains were
nothing to hold as a line because it was too easy to
turn them. You should have possible mobility and a
mountain is not very mobile. Also, people always
over-shoot down hill. If the flank were turned, the
best men would be left on the highest mountains. I
did not believe in a war in mountains. I had thought
about it a lot, I said. You pinched off one mountain
and they pinched off another but when something
really started every one had to get down off the
mountains.

“ What were you going to do if you had a
mountain frontier ? " he asked.

“ I had not worked that out yet," I said, and we
both laughed. “ But,” I said, “ in the old days the
Austrians were always whipped in the quadrilateral
around Verona. They let them come down on to the
plain and whipped them there."

“Yes," said Gino. “But those were Frenchmen

160

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

and you can work out military problems dearly when
you are fighting in somebody else’s country."

“ Yes," I agreed, " when it is your own country
you cannot use it so scientifically."

"The Russians did, to trap Napoleon."

" Yes, but they had plenty of country. If you tried
to retreat to trap Napoleon in Italy you would find
yourself in Brindisi."

" A terrible place,” said Gino. " Have you ever
been there ? "

" Not to stay."

I am a patriot," Gino said. " But I cannot love
Brindisi or Taranto.”

"Do you love the Bainsizza? ” I asked.

" The soil is sacred," he said. “ But I wish it
grew more potatoes. You know when we came here
we found fields of potatoes the Austrians had planted."

Has the food really been short ? ”

" I myself have never had enough to eat but I am

a big eater and I have not starved. The mess is

average. The regiments in the line get pretty good

food but those in support don’t get so much. Some-

ttung is wrong somewhere. There should be plenty
of food.” ^ ^

„ dogfish Me selling it somewhere else."

Yes, they give the battalions in the front line
as much as they can but the ones in back are very
snort. They have eaten all the Austrians’ potatoes
and chestnuts from the woods. They ought to feed

nW ^ ™ there is

the soldiers to be

^ort of food. Have you ever noticed the difference it
m^es in the way you ? '»

lose^^e ” ^ win a war but it can

talk^hni^T* losing. There is enough

T been done in vain."

bv the anything, I was always embarrassed

e^r^on sacred glonous and sacrifice and the
expression in vam. We had heard them, sometimes

161

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

standing in the rain almost out of earshot, so that
only the shouted words came through, and had read
them, on proclamations that were slapped up by bill¬
posters over other proclamations, now for a long time,
and I had seen nothing sacred, and the things that
were glorious had no glory and the sacrifices were
like the stockyards at Chicago if nothing was done
with the meat except to bury it. There were many
words that you could not stand to hear and finally
only the names of places had dignity. Certain
numbers were the same way and certain dates and
these with the names of the places were all you could
say and have them mean anything. Abstract words
such as glory, honour, courage, or hallow were obscene
beside the concrete names of villages, the numbers
of roads, the names of rivers, the numbers of regi¬
ments and the dates. Gino was a patriot, so he said
things that separated us sometimes, but he was also a
fine boy and I understood his being a patriot. He was
bom one. He left with Peduzzi in the car to go back
to Gorizia.

It stormed all that day. The wind drove down the
rain and everywhere there was standing water and
mud. The plaster of the broken houses was grey and
wet. Late in the afternoon the rain stopped and from
our number two post I saw the bare wet autumn
country with clouds over the tops of the hills and the
straw screening over the roads wet and dripping. The
sun came out once before it went down and shone on
the bare woods beyond the ridge. There were many
Austrian guns in tlie woods on that ridge but only
a few fired. I watched the sudden round puffs of
shrapnel smoke in the sky above a broken farmhouse
near where the line was ; soft puffs with a yellow-white
flash in the centre. You saw tlie flash, then heard tlie
crack, then saw the smoke ball distort and thin in the
wind. There were many iron shrapnel balls in the
rubble of the houses and on the road beside the broken
house where the post was, but they did not shell near
the post that afternoon. We loaded two cars and
drove down the road that was screened with wet mats

162

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

i't<y I

and the last of the sun came through in the breaks be¬
tween the strips of matting. Before we were out on
the clear road behind the hill the sun was down. We
went on down the clear road and as it turned a comer
into the open and went into the square arched tunnel
of matting the rain started again.

The wind rose in the night and at three o'clock in
the morning with the rain coming in sheets tlicre was
a bombardment and the Croatians came over across
the mountain meadows and through patches of woods
and into the front line. They fought in the dark in
the rain and a counter-attack of scared men from the
second line drove them back. There was much shell¬
ing and many rockets in the rain and machine-gun and
rifle fire all along the line. They did not come again
and It was quieter and between the gusts of wind and
ram we could hear the sound of a great bombardment
far to the north.

The wounded were coming into the post, some were
earned on stretchers, some walking and some were
brought on the backs of men that came across the

?X7 skin and all were scared.

We filled two cars with stretcher cases as they came

up from the ceUar of the post and as I shut the door

o! the second car and fastened it I felt the rain on mv

face turn to snow. The flakes were coming heavy and
last in the rain.

men daylight came the storm was stiU blowing
but the snow had stopped. It had melted as it fell
^ the wet ground and now it was raining again
There was another attack just after daylight but it

expected an attack £l day but
It did not come until the sun was going doxvn ^ The

tSted ^^ncen-

wme Tf a bombardment but it did not

the Setting dark. Guns were firing from

X had and the sheUs.^oSS

^7' ? ^ ^ comfortable sound. ® ^

unsuccessful. They did not attack that night but we

163

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

heard that they had broken through to the north. In
the night word came that we were to prepare to
retreat. The captain at the post told me this. He
had it from the Brigade. A little while later he came
from the telephone and said it was a lie. The Brigade
had received orders that the line of the Bainsizza
should be held no matter what happened. I asked
about the break through and he said that he had heard
at the Brigade that the Austrians had broken through
the twenty-seventh army corps up toward Caporetto.
There had been a great battle in the north
all day.

■' If those bastards let them through we are
cooked,” he said.

” It's Germans that are attacking,” one of the
medical officers said. The word Germans was some¬
thing to be frightened of. We did not want to have
anything to do with the Germans.

” There are fifteen divisions of Germans,” the
medical officer said. " They have broken through
and we will be cut off.”

“ At the Brigade they say this line is to be held.
They say they have not broken through badly and
that we will hold a line across the mountains from
Monte Maggiore.”

” Where do they hear this ? ”

” From the Division.”

” The word that we were to retreat came from the
Division.”

” We work under the Army Corps,” I said. ” But
here I work under you. Naturally when you tell me
to go I will go. But get the orders straight.”

” The orders are that we stay here. You clear
the wounded from here to the clearing-station.”

” Sometimes we clear from the clearing-station to
the field hospitals too,” I said. ” Tell me, I have
never seen a retreat — if there is a retreat how are
all the wounded evacuated ? ”

“They are not. They take as many as they can

and leave the rest.”

“ What will I take in the cars ? ”

164

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Hospital equipment.”

“AU right,” I said.

The next night the retreat started. We heard that
Germans and Austrians had broken through in the
north and were coming down the mountain valleys to¬
ward Cividale and Udine. Tlie retreat was orderly,
wet and sullen. In the night, going slowly along the
crowded roads we passed troops marching under the
rain, guns, horses pulling wagons, mules, motor
trucks, all moving away from the front. There was
no more disorder than in an advance.

That night we helped empty the field hospitals that

had been set up in the least ruined villages of the

plateau, taking the wounded down to Plava on the

river-bed : and the next day hauled all day in the rain

to evacuate the hospitals and clearing-station at

Plava. It rained steadily and the army of the Bain-

sizza moved down off the plateau in the October rain

and across the river where the great victories had

commenced in the spring of that year. We came into

Gonzia in the middle of the next day. The rain had

stopped and the town was nearly empty. As we came

up the ^ street they were loading the girls from the

soldiers whorehouse into a truck. There were seven

girls and they had on their hats and coats and carried

small suitcases. Two of them were crying. Of the

others one smiled at us and put out her tongue and

fluttered it up and down. She had thick full lips and
black eyes. ^

1 stopp^ the car and went over and spoke to the

had reft

W she said. Where were they go-

^e started.

ervtaa The kept on

looked interestedly out at the
* I sot back in the car.

"Th^^w^iA^V go with them.” BoneUo said.
M ^ Sood trip.”

WeU have a good trip,” I said.

We 11 have a hell of a trip.”

165

€t

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

That s what I mean/’ I said. We came up the
drive to the villa.

“ I'd like to be there when some of those tough
babies climb in."

“ You think they will ? ”

“ Sure. Everybody in the Second Army knows
that matron."

We were outside the villa.

"They call her the Mother Superior," Bonello said.
" The girls are new but everybody knows her. They
must have brought them up just before the retreat.”

" They’ll have a time."

" I'll say they'll have a time. I’d like to have a
crack at them for nothing. They charge too much
at that house an5^vay. The government gyps us."

" Take the car out and have the mechanics go
over it,” I said. " Change the oil and check the
differential. Fill it up and then get some sleep.”

" Yes, Signor Tenente.”

The villa was empty. Rinaldi was gone with the
hospital. The major was gone taking hospital
personnel in the staff car. There was a note on the
window for me to fill the cars with the material piled
in the hall and to proceed to Pordenone. The mechanics
were gone already. I went out back to the garage.
The other two cars came in while I was there and
their drivers got down. It was starting to rain again.

" I’m so— sleepy I went to sleep three times coming
here from Plava,” Piana said. " What are we going
to do, Tenente ? "

" We'll change the oil, grease them, fill them up,
then take them around in front and load up the junk
they’ve left."

" Then do we start ? "

" No, we’ll sleep for three hours."

"Christ, I'm glad to sleep,” Bonello said. "I
couldn't keep awake driving."

" How’s your car, Aymo ? " I asked.

" It’s all right."

" Get me a monkey suit and I’ll help you with the
oil."

166

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“Don’t you do that, Tenente,” Aymo said. “It’s
nothing to do. You go and pack your things."

“My things are all packed," I said. "I’ll go and
carry out the stuff that they left for us. Bring the cars
around as soon as they're ready."

They brought the cars around to the front of the
villa and we loaded them with the hospital equipment
which was piled in the hallway. When it was all in,
the three cars stood in line down the driveway under
the trees in the rain. We went inside.

“ Make a fire in the kitchen and dry your things,"
I said.

“ I don't care about dry clothes,” Piani said. “ I
want to sleep.”

” I’m going to sleep on the major’s bed," Bonello
said.

“ I don’t care where I sleep," Piani said.

“ There are two beds in here." I opened the door.

" I never knew what was in that room,” Bonello
said.

“That was old fish-face’s room,” Piani said.

sleep in there," I said. “ I’U wake you."
llie Austrians will wake us if you sleep too Ion?
Tenente,” Bonello said. j t' &,

“ I won't oversleep,” I said. “ Where’s Aymo ? "
He went out in the kitchen."

•t sleep,” I said.

iin asleep sitting

fishicel

to me.” Piani lay on the

S? stove Aymo had a fire in

" We'll asciutta," he said,

well be hungry when we wake up."

sleepy, Bartolomeo ? "

it Thl I’ll leave

It. 1 he fire will go down.”

167

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" You'd better get some sleep," I said. "We can
eat cheese and monkey meat."

“ This is better,” he said. “ Something hot will
be good for those two anarchists. You go to sleep,
Tenente.”

" There's a bed in the major's room."

" You sleep there."

" No, Tm going up to my old room. Do you
want a drink, Bartolomeo ? "

" When we go, Tenente. Now it wouldn’t do me
any good."

" If you wake in three hours and I haven’t called
you, wake me, will you ? "

" I haven’t any watch, Tenente."

" There’s a clock on the wall in the major’s room."

" All right.”

I went out then through the dining-room and the
hall and up the marble stairs to the room where I
had lived with Rinaldi. It was raining outside. I
went to the window and looked out. It was getting
dark and I saw the three cars standing in line under
the trees. The trees were dripping in the rain. It was
cold and the drops hung to the branches. I went back
to Rinaldi’s bed and lay down and let sleep take me.

We ate in the kitchen before we started. Aymo
had a basin of spaghetti with onions and tinned meat
chopped up in it. We sat round the table and drank
two bottles of the wine that had been left in the cellar
of the villa. It was dark outside and still raining.
Piani sat at the table very sleepy.

" I like a retreat better than an advance,” Bonello
said. " On a retreat we drink barbera."

" We drink it now. To-morrow maybe we drink
rainwater," Aymo said.

" To-morrow we'll be in Udine. We'll drink
champagne. That’s where the slackers live. Wake
up, Piani ! We’ll drink champagne to-morrow in

Udine 1 " . . ,

"I'm awake," Piani said. He filled his plate wth
the spaghetti and meat. " Couldn’t you find tomato
sauce, Barto ? ”

168

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" There wasn’t any,” Aymo said.

" VVe’U drink champagne in Udine,” Bonello said.
He filled his glass with the clear red barbera.

” Have you eaten enough, Tenente ? ” Aymo asked.

“ I’ve got plenty. Give me the bottle, Bartolomeo.”

" I have a bottle apiece to take in the cars,” Aymo
said.

“Did you sleep at all? ”

“I don’t need much sleep. I slept a little.”

''To-morrow we’ll sleep in the king’s bed,” Bonello
said. He was feeling very good.

” I’ll sleep with the queen,” Bonello said. He
looked to see how I took the joke.

” Shut up,” I said. ” You get too funny with a
little wine.” Outside it was raining hard. I looked
at my watch. It was half-past nine.

It’s time to roll,” I said and stood up.

” Who are you going to ride with, Tenente ? ”
Bonello asked.

Aymo. Then you come. Then Piani,
We 11 start out on the road for Cormons.”

” I'm afraid I’U go to sleep,” Piani said.

All right. I’ll ride with you. Then Bonello.
Ihen A3mio.”

LJecause

Thats the best way,” Piani said.

I m so sleepy.”

" I'll drive and you sleep awhile.”

'‘No. I c^ drive just so long as I know some-
body wdl wake me up if I go to sleep.”

1 11 wake you up. Put out the lights, Barto.”

them,” Bonello said.
We ve got no more use for this place.”

- w-ii t small locker trunk in my room,” I said.
Well take it,” Piani said. "Come on Aldo ”

gobru^?airs'!^° ^

Bartolomeo Aymo said.
He put two bottles of wine and half a cheese into

agam. Where will they retreat to, Tenente ’ ”

169

A FAREWELL TO ARJIS

“ Beyond the Tagliamento, they say. The hospital
and the sector are to be at Pordenone."

“This is a better to\vn than Pordenone.”

“ I don’t know Pordenone,” I said. “ I’ve just
been through there.”

“ It’s not much of a place,” Aymo said.

CHAPTER XXVIII

As we moved out through the town it was empty in
the rain and the dark except for columns of troops
and guns that were going through the main street.
There were many trucks too and some carts going
through on other streets and converging on the main
road. \Vlicn we were out past the tanneries on to
the main road the troops, tlie motor trucks, the horse-
drawn carts and the guns were in one wide slow-
moving column. We moved slowly but steadily in
the rain, the radiator cap of our car almost against
the tailboard of a truck that was loaded high, the
load covered with wet canvas. Then the truck
stopped. The whole column was stopped. It started
again and we went a little farther, then stopped. I
got out and walked ahead, going between the trucks
and carts and under the wet necks of the horses. The
block was farther ahead. I left the road, crossed the
ditch on a footboard and walked along the field be¬
yond the ditch. I could see the stalled column be¬
tween the trees in the rain as I went forward across
from it in the field. I went about a mile. The
column did not move, although on the other side be¬
yond the stalled vehicles I could see the troops
moving. I went back to the cars. This block might
extend as far as Udine. Piani was asleep over the
wheel. I climbed up beside him and went to sleep too.
Several hours later I heard the truck ahead of m
grinding into gear. I woke Piani and we started,
moving a few yards, then stopping, then going on

again. It was stUl raining. , *

The column stalled again in the night and did not

170

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Start. I got down and went back to see Aymo and
Bonello. Bonello ]iad two sergeants of engineers on
the seat of his car witli him. They stiffened when I
came up.

“They were left to do something to a bridge,"
Bonello said. “ They can't find their unit so I gave
them a ride."

“With the Sir Lieutenant's permission.”

“With permission," I said.

The lieutenant is an American,” Bonello said.
“He’ll give anybody a ride."

One of the sergeants smiled. The other asked
Bonello if I was an Italian from North or South
America.

He s not an Italian. He’s North American
English.”

The sergeants were polite but did not believe it I
left them and went back to Aymo. He had two girls
on the seat with him and was sitting back in the
comer and smoking.

II I said. He laughed.

Talk to them. Tenente,” he said. “I can’t
raderst^d them. Hey I " he put his hand on the
g^ls thigh and squeezed it in a friendly way. The
g^l drew her shawl tight around her and pushed his
hand away. “ Hey I " he said. “ Tell the Tenente

what you're doing here."

The girl looked at me fiercely. The other ffirl kent
eyes down The girl who looked at me safd som^
m a dialect I could not understand a worrot

orrela. I asked and pomted at the other

She nodded her head and smiled.

KAt. * ^ and patted her knee I felt

"h. s; =£

171

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

girl looked at him fiercely. The pair of tliem were
like two wild birds.

“ What does she ride with me for if she doesn’t
like me ? ” Aymo asked. “ They got right up in the
car the minute I motioned to them." He turned to
the girl. "Don’t worry," he said. "No danger of

- using the vulgar word. " No place for — —

I could see she understood the word and that was all.
Her eyes looked at him very scared. She pulled the
shawl tight. " Car all full," Aymo said. " No

danger of - . No place for - ." Every time he

said the word the girl stiffened a little. Then sit¬
ting stiflUy and looking at him she began to cry. I saw
her lips working and then tears came down her plump
cheeks. Her sister, not looking up, took her hand
and they sat there together. The older one, who had
been so fierce, began to sob.

" I guess I scared her," Aymo said. " I didn’t
mean to scare her.”

Bartolomeo brought out his knapsack and cut off
two pieces of cheese. " Here," he said. " Stop crying."

The older girl shook her head and still cried, but
the younger girl took the cheese and commenced to
eat. After a while the younger girl gave her sister
the second piece of cheese and they both ate. The
older sister still sobbed a little.

" She’ll be all right after a while," Aymo said.

An idea came to him. " Virgin ? " he asked the
girl next to him. She nodded her head vigorously.
"Virgin too?" he pointed to the sister. Both the
girls nodded their heads and the elder said something
in dialect.

" That’s all right," Bartolomeo said. " That’s
all right."

Both the girls seemed cheered.

I left them sitting together \vith Aymo sitting back
in the corner and went back to Piani’s car. The
column of vehicles did not move but the troops kept
passing alongside. It w'as still raining hard and I
thought some of the stops in the movement of the
column might be from cars with wet wiring. More

172

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

likely they were from horses or men going to sleep.
Still, traffic could tie up in cities when every one was
awake. It was the combination of horse and motor
vehicles. They did not help each other any. The
peasants' carts did not help much either. Those were
a couple of fine girls with Barto. A retreat was no
place for two virgins. Real virgins. Probably very
reli^ous. If there were no war we would probably all
be in bed. In bed I lay me down my head. Bed and
board. Stiff as a board in bed. Catherine was in
bed now between two sheets, over her and under her.
Which side did she sleep on ? Maybe she wasn’t
asleep. Maybe she was lying thinking about me.
Blow, blow, ye western wind. Well, it blew and it
w^n’t the small rain but the big rain down that
rained. It rained aU night. You knew it rained
down that rain. Look at it. Christ, that my love
were in my arms and I in my bed again. That my
love Catherine. That my sweet love Catherine down
might rain. Blow her again to me. Well, we were
in it. Every one was caught in it and the small rain
would not quiet it. “ Good night, Catherine,” I said
out loud. ”I hope you sleep well. If it’s too
uncomfortable, darling, lie on the other side," I said.
‘ I'll get you some cold water. In a little while it
\vxll be morning and then it won't be so bad. I’m
sorry he makes you so uncomfortable. Try and eo
to sleep, sweet.”

I was asleep all the time, she said. You've been
talking m your sleep. Are you all right ?

Are you really there ?

Of course I’m here. I wouldn't go away. This
do^n t make any difference between us.

You're so lovely and sweet. You wouldn't go
away m the night, would you ? ^

T ^ wouldn’t go away. I’m always here.

I come whenever you want me. ^

i,j » Tiam said. ” They’ve started again.”

T, I said. I looked at mv watch

beCd “oraing- I reacted back

behind the seat for a bottle of the barbera.

173

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" You talked out loud,” Piani said.

” I was having a dream in English.” I said.

The rain was slacking and we were moving along.
Before daylight we were stalled again and when it
was light we were at a little rise in the ground and
I saw the road of the retreat stretched out far ahead,
everything stationary except for the infantry filtering
through. We started to move again, but seeing the
rate of progress in the daylight, I knew we were going
to have to get off that main road some way and go
across country if we ever hoped to reach Udine.

In the night many peasants had joined the column
from the roads of the country and in the column
there were carts loaded \vith household goods ; there
were mirrors projecting up between mattresses, and
clhckens and ducks tied to carts. There was a sew¬
ing machine on the cart ahead of us in the rain. They
had saved the most valuable things. On some carts
the women sat huddled from the rain and others
walked beside the carts keeping as close to them as
they could. There were dogs now in the column,
keeping under the wagons as they moved along. The
road was muddy, the ditches at the side were high
with water and beyond the trees that lined the road
the fields looked too wet and too soggy to try to cross.
I got down from the car and w'orked up the road a
way, looking for a place where I could see ahead to
find a side-road we could take across country. I
knew there were many side-roads but did not want
one that would lead to nothing. I could not remember
them because we had always passed them bowling
along in the car on the main road and they all looked
much alike. Now I knew we must find one if we
hoped to get through. No one knew where the
Austrians were nor how things were going but I was
certain that if the rain should stop and planes come
over and get to work on that column that it would be
all over. All that was needed was for a few men to
leave their trucks or a few horses to be killed to tie
up completely the movement on the road.

The rain was not falling so heavily now and I

174

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

thought it might clear. I went ahead along tlae edge
of the road and when there was a small road that led
off to the north between two fields with a hedge of
trees on both sides, I thought that we had better
take it and hurried back to the cars. I told Piani to
turn off and went back to tell Boncllo and Aynio.

"If it leads nowhere we can turn around and cut
back in,” I said.

” What about these ? ” Bonello asked. His two
sergeants were beside him on the seat. They were
unshaven but still military looking in the early
morning.

" They'll be good to push," I said. I went back
to Aymo and told him we were going to try it across
country.

"What about my virgin family?” Aymo asked.
The two girls were asleep.

"They won't be very useful,” I said. "You
ought to have someone that could push.”

< go back in the car,” Aymo said.

There s room in the car."

“ All right if you want them,” I said, " Pick up
somebody with a wide back to push.”

" Bersaglieri,” Aymo smiled. "They have the
widest backs. They measure them. How do you
leel, Tenente ? ” ^

" Fine. How are you ? ”

hungry.”

something up that road and
we will stop and eat.” ° r

", Kow's your leg, Tenente ? ”

I said. Standing on the step and look-

thmulh fh ^ and starting up it, his car sho^g

branches. Bonello turned

out^d wpTif '"^^ked his way

Stow two ambulances ahead along

W We to a farm-

faiSvard'^ Th^L stopped in the

long with a

trellis with a grape-vine over the door. There was a

175

I

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

well in the yard and Piani was getting up water to
fill his radiator. So much going in low gear had
boiled it out. The farmhouse was deserted. I
looked back down the road, the farmhouse was on a
slight elevation above the plain, and we could see
over the country, and saw the road, the hedges, the
fields and the line of trees along the main road where
the retreat was passing. The two sergeants were
looking through the house. The girls were awake
and looking at the courtyard, the well and the two
big ambulances in front of the farmhouse, with three
drivers at the well. One of the sergeants came out
with a clock in his hand.

“ Put it back,” I said. He looked at me, went in
the house and came back without the clock.

'■ WTiere’s your partner? ” I asked.

” He’s gone to .the latrine.” He got up on the
seat of the ambulance. He was afraid we would
leave him.

“What about breakfast, Tenente ? ” Bonello
asked. ” We could eat something. It wouldn’t take
very long."

“Do you think this road going down on the other
side will lead to anything ? ”

” Sure.”

” All right. Let’s eat.” Piani and Bonello went
in the house.

“Come on,” Aymo said to the girls. He held
his hand to help them down. The older sister shook
her head. They were not going into any deserted
house. They looked after us.

“They are difficult,” Aymo said. We went into
the farmhouse together. It was large and dark and
abandoned feeling. Bonello and Piani were in the
kitchen.

” There’s not much to eat,” Piani said. " They ve
cleaned it out.”

Bonello sliced a big white cheese on the heavy
kitchen table.

” Where was the cheese ? ”

" In the cellar. Piani found wine too and apples.

176

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" That's a good breakfast."

Piani was taking the wooden cork out of a big
wicker-covered wine-jug. He tipped it and poured a
copper pan full.

"It smells all right," he said. "Find some
beakers, Barto.”

The two sergeants came in.

“ Have some cheese, sergeants," Bonello said.

"We should go," one of the sergeants said, eat¬
ing his cheese and drinking a cup of wine.

"We’ll go. Don’t worry,” Bonello said.

" An army travels on its stomach,” I said.

" What ? " asked the sergeant.

" It's better to eat.”

"Yes. But time is precious."

" I believe the bastards have eaten already,” Piani
said. The sergeants looked at him. They hated the
lot of us.

" You know the road ? " one of them asked me.

“ No," I said. They looked at each other.

‘I We would do best to start,” the first one said.

" We are starting,” I said. I drank another cup
of the red wine. It tasted very good after the cheese
and apple.

‘ Bring the cheese," I said and went out. Bonello
came out carrying the great jug of wine.

T^hat’s too big,” I said. He looked at it regret-

♦ cn said. " Give me the canteens

to nu. He filled the canteens and some of the wine
ran out on the stone paving of the courtyard. Then
door the wine jug and put it just inside the

do'o7do™“‘heTai<r"

^ "’<1 I go

two engmeers were already on the seat

a?Dlet eating cheese and

thf was smoking. We started off down

narrow road. I looked back at the two cars
commg and the farmhouse. It was a fine, low. solid

177

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

stone house and the ironwork of the well was very
good. Ahead of us the road was narrow and muddy
and there was a high hedge on either side. Behind,
the cars were following closely.

CHAPTER XXIX

At noon we were stuck in a muddy road about, as
nearly as we could figure, ten kilometres from Udine.
The rain had stopped during the forenoon and tliree
times we had heard planes coming, seen them pass
overhead, watched them go far to the left and heard
them bombing on the main high road. We had
worked through a network of secondary roads and
had taken many roads that were blind, but had
always, by packing up and finding another road,
gotten closer to Udine. Now, Aymo's car, in back¬
ing so that we might get out of a blind road, had
gotten into the soft earth at the side and the wheels,
spinning, had dug deeper and deeper until the car
rested on its differential. The thing to do now was
to dig out in front of the wheels, put in brush so
that the chains could grip, and then push until the
car was on the road. We were all down on the road
around the car. The two sergeants looked at the
car and examined the wheels. Then they started off
down the road without a word. I went after them.

“Come on,” I said. “Cut some brush.”

“ We have to go,” one said.

“Get busy,” I said, “and cut brush.”

“ We have to go,” one said. The other said
nothing. They were in a hurry to start. They
would not look at me.

“ I order you to come back to the car and cut
brush,” I said. The one sergeant turned. “ We
have to go on. In a little while you will be cut off.
You can’t order us. You’re not our officer.”

“ I order you to cut brush,” I said. They turned
and started down the road.

“ Halt,” I said. They kept on down the muddy

178

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

road, the hedge on either side. “ I order you to
halt,” I called. They went a little faster. I opened
up my holster, took the pistol, aimed at the one wlio had
talked the most, and Ared. I missed and they both
started to run. I shot three times and dropped one.
The other went through the hedge and was out of sight.
I fired at him through the hedge as he ran across
the field. The pistol clicked empty and I put in an¬
other clip. I saw it was too far to shoot at the second
sergeant. He was far across the field, running, his
head held low. I commenced to reload the empty
clip. Bonello came up.

"Let me go finish him,” he said. I handed him
the pistol and he walked down to where the sergeant
of engineers lay face down across the road. Bonello
leaned over, put the pistol against the man’s head
and pulled the trigger. The pistol did not fire.

“You have to cock it,” I said. He cocked it and
fired twice. He took hold of the sergeant’s legs and
pulled him to the side of the road so he lay beside
the hedge. He came back and handed me the pistol.

The son of a bitch,” he said. He looked toward
the sergeant. “ You see me shoot him, Tenente ? ”

« the brush quickly,” I said.
Hid I hit the other one at all ? ”

I don’t think so,” Aymo said. “ He was too
far away to hit with a pistol.”

The^ dirty scum,” Piani said. We were all cut-
ting twgs and branches. Everything had been taken
out of the car. BoneUo was digging out in front of
the wheels. When we were ready Aymo started the
^ and put it into gear. The wheels spun round
^owmg brush and mud. BoneUo and I pushed until
movQ ^ joints crack. The car would not

“Rock her back and forth, Barto.” I said.

wheek nnV then forward. The

on Then the car was resting

in h 1 again, and the wheels spun freely

“ We'U ^ straightened up.

WeU try her with a rope.” I said.

179

-

j <

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ I don’t think it’s any use, Tenente. You can't
get a straight pull.”

" We have to try it,” I said. " She won’t come
out any other way.”

Piani’s'and Bonello’s cars could only move straight
ahead down the narrow road. We roped both cars
together and pulled. The wheels only pulled side¬
ways against the ruts.

" It’s no good,” I shouted. “ Stop it.”

Piani and Bonello got down from their cars and
came back. Aymo got down. The girls were up
the road about forty yards sitting on a stone wall.

” Wliat do you say, Tenente ? ” BoncUo asked.

'' We’ll dig out and try once more with the brush,”
I said. I looked down the road. It was my fault.
I had led them up here. The sun was almost out
from behind the clouds and the body of the sergeant
lay beside the hedge.

” We'll put his coat and cape under,” I said.
Bonello went to get them. I cut brush and Aymo and
Piani dug out in front and between the wheels. I
cut the cape, then ripped it in two and laid it under
the wheel in the mud, then piled brush for the wheels
to catch. We were ready to start and Aymo got up
on the seat and started the car. The wheels spun
and we pushed and pushed. But it wasn't any use.

'■ It’s finished,” I said. " Is there anything you
want in the car, Barto ? ”

Aymo climbed up with Bonello, carrying the cheese
and two bottles of wine and his cape. Bonello, sit¬
ting behind the wheel was looking through the pockets
of the sergeant’s coat.

"Better throw the coat away,” I said. "What
about Barto’s virgins ? ”

" They can get in the back,” Piani said. “ I don’t
think we are going far.”

I opened the back door of the ambulance.

"Come on,” I said. "Get in.” The two girls
climbed in and sat in the comer. They seemed to
have taken no notice of the shooting. I looked back
up the road. The sergeant lay in his dirty long-

180

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

sleeved underwear. I got up with Piani and we
started. We were going to try to cross the field.
When the road entered the field I got down and
walked ahead. If we could get across, there was a
road on the other side. We could not get across.
It was too soft and muddy for tlie cars. When they
were finally and completely stalled, the wheels dug in
to the hubs, we left them in the field and started on
foot for Udine.

When we came to the road which led back toward
the main highway I pointed down it to the two girls.

“Go down there," I said. “You'll meet people.”
They looked at me. I took out my pocket-book and
gave them each a ten-lira note. “ Go down there,"
I said, pointing. “ Friends 1 Family ! "

They did not understand but they held the money
tightly and started down the road. They looked back
as though they were afraid I might take the money
back. I watched them go down the road, their
shawls close around them, looking back apprehen¬
sively at us. The three drivers were laughing.

How much will you give me to go in that direc¬
tion, Tenente ? " BoneDo asked.

“ They're better off in a bunch of people than alone
if they catch them,” I said.

“ Give me two hundred lire and I’ll walk straight
back toward Austria," Bonello said.

“They’d take it away from you.” Piani said.

Maybe the war will be over," Aymo said. We
were going up the road as fast as we could. The
sun was trying to come through. Beside the road
were mulberry trees. Through the trees I could see
our two big moving-vans of cars stuck in the field,
looked back too.

he id^^ ^ build a road to get them out,"

; I wish to Christ we had bicycles," Bonello said.

,, ^ they nde bicycles in America ? " Aymo asked.
Ihey used to."

bicvH^ U Aymo said. "A

oicycle IS a splendid thing."

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ I wish to Christ we had bicycles,” BoneUo said.
“ I'm no walker.”

” Is that firing ? ” I asked. I thought I could hear
firing a long way away.

” I don't know,” Aymo said. He listened.

"I think so,” I said.

” The first thing we will see will be the cavalry,”
Piani said.

” I don’t think they've got any cavalry.”

"I hope to Christ not,” BoneUo said. “I don't
want to be stuck on a lance by any cavalry.”

” You certainly shot that sergeant, Tenente,”
Piani said. We were walking fast.

"I kiUed him,” BoneUo said. "I never kiUed
anybody in this war, and aU my Ufe I've wanted to
kill a sergeant.”

” You kiUed him on the sit aU right,” Piani said.
” He wasn't flying very fast when you kiUed him.”

” Never mind. That's one thing I can always

remember. I kiUed that - of a sergeant.”

” What wiU you say in confession ? ” Aymo asked.
”ril say, Bless me, father, I kiUed a sergeant.”
They aU laughed.

” He's an anarchist,” Piani said. ” He doesn’t
go to church.”

” Piani’s an anarchist too,” BoneUo said.

” Are you really anarchists? ” I asked.

“No, Tenente. We're socialists. We come from
Imola.”

” Haven't you ever been there? ”

“No.”

“ By Christ it’s a fine place, Tenente. You come
there after the war and we'U show you something.

“ Are you aU socialists ? ”

“ Everybody.”

” Is it a fine town ? ”

“ Wonderful. You never saw a town like
that.”

“ How did you get to be sociahsts ?

” We're aU socialists. Everybody is a socialist.

We've always been socialists;”

182

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“You come, Tenente. We’ll make you a socialist

too." ^ .

Ahead the road turned off to the left and there -. -
was a little hill and, beyond a stone wall, an apple -
orchard. As the road went uphill they ceased talk¬
ing. We walked along together all going fast
against time.

CHAPTER XXX

Later we were on a road that led to a river. There
was a long line of abandoned trucks and carts on the
road leading up to the bridge. No one was in sight.
The river was high and the bridge had been blown up
in the centre ; the stone arch was fallen into the river
and the brown water was going over it. We went
on up the bank looking for a place to cross. Up
above I knew there was a railway bridge and I
thought we might be able to get across there. The
path was wet and muddy. We did not see any
troops ; only abandoned trucks and stores. Along
the river bank there was nothing and no one but the
wet brush and muddy ground. We went up to the
bank and finally we saw the railway bridge.

” What a beautiful bridge,” Aymo said. It was
a long plain iron bridge across what was usually a
dry river-bed.

_ "We better hurry and get across before they blow
It up.” I ^said.

, 'There’s nobody to blow it up,” Piani said.

They’re all gone.”

It’s probably mined,” Bonello said. " You cross
first, Tenente.”

Listen to the anarchist,” Aymo said, " Make
™ go first.”

Ill go,” I said. “It won't be mined to blow
up with one man.”

You see,” Piani said. “ That is brains. Why
haven t you brams. anarchist ? ”

If I had brains I wouldn’t be here,” Bonello said.

183

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ That's pretty good, Tenente," Aymo said.

“ That’s pretty good,” I said. We were close to
the bridge now. The sky had clouded over again and
it was raining a little. The bridge looked long and
solid. We climbed up the embankment.

“ Come one at a time,” I said and started across
the bridge. I watched the ties and the rails for any
trip-wires or signs of explosive but I saw nothing.
Down below the gaps in the ties the river ran muddy
and fast. Ahead across the wet countryside I could
see Udine in the rain. Across the bridge I looked
back. Just up the river was another bridge. As I
watched, a yellow mud-coloured motor-car crossed it.
The sides of the bridge were high and the body of
the car, once on, was out of sight. But I saw the
heads of the driver, the man on the seat with him
and the two men on the rear seat. They all wore
German helmets. Then the car was over the bridge
and out of sight behind the trees and the abandoned
vehicles on the road. I waved to Aymo who was
crossing and to the others to come on. I climbed
down and crouched beside the railway embankment.
Aymo came down with me.

” Did you see the car ? ” I asked.

” No. We were watching you.”

” A German staff car crossed on the upper bridge.”

” A staff car ? ”

” Yes.”

” Holy Mary ! ”

The others came and we all crouched in the mud
behind the enibankment, looking across the rails at
the bridge, the line of trees, the ditch and the road.

” Do you think we’re cut off then, Tenente ? ”

*' I don’t know. All I know is a German staff car
went along that road.”

*' You don’t feel funny, Tenente ? You haven t
got strange feelings in the head ? ”

" Don't be funny, Bonello.”

” What about a drink ? ” Piani asked. If we re
cut off we might as well have a drink.” He unhooked
his canteen and uncorked it.

184

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Look ! Look ! *’ Aymo said and pointed toward
the road. Along the top of the stone bridge we
could see German helmets moving. They were bent
forward and moved smoothly, almost supematurally,
along. As they came off the bridge we saw them.
They were bicycle troops. I saw the faces of tlie
first two. They were ruddy and healthy-looking.
Their helmets came low dowm over their foreheads
and the side of their faces. Their carbines were
clipped to the frames of the bicycles. Stick bombs
hung handle down from their belts. Their helmets
and their grey uniforms were wet and they rode
easily, looking ahead and to both sides. There were
two — then four in line, then two, then almost a dozen ;
then another dozen — then one alone. They did not
talk but we could not have heard them because of
the noise from the river. They were gone out of
sight up the road.

" Holy Mary,” Aymo said.

” They were Germans,” Piani said. " Those
weren’t Austrians.”

" Why isn't there somebody here to stop them ? ” I
said. '' Why haven’t they blown the bridge up ? Why
aren’t there machine-guns along this embankment ? ”

” You tell us, Tenente,” Bonello said.

I was very angry.

" The whole bloody thing is crazy. Down below
they blow up a little bridge. Here they leave a bridge
on the main road. Where is everybody ? Don’t
they try and stop them at all ? ”

“ You tell us, Tenente,” Bonello said. I shut up.
It was none of my business ; all I had to do was to
get to Pordenone with three ambulances. I had
failed, at that. All I had to do now was to get to Por-
wnone. I probably could not even get to Udine,
rhe hell I couldn’t. The thing to do was to be calm
pt shot or captured.

Didn't you have a canteen open ? ” I asked
handed it to me. I took a long drink.

We might as well start,” I said. “There’s no
hurry though. Do you want to eat something ? ”

185

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ This is no place to stay," Bonello said.

" AU right. We'll start."

" Should we keep on this side — out of sight ? "

" We’ll be better off on top. They may come
along this bridge too. We don’t want them on top
of us before we see them."

We walked along the railroad track. On both
sides of us stretched the wet plain. Ahead across
the plain was the hill of Udine. The roofs fell away
from the castle on the hill. We could see the cam¬
panile and the clock-tower. There were many
mulberry trees in the fields. Ahead I saw a place
where the rails were tom up. The ties had been dug
out too and thrown down the embankment.

" Down ! Down ! " Aymo said. We dropped
down beside the embankment. There was another
group of bicyclists passing along the road. I looked
over the edge and saw them go on.

" They saw us but they went on," Aymo said.

"We'll get kiUed up there, Tenente,” Bonello
said.

"They don’t want us,” I said. "They’re after
something else. We're in more danger if they
should come on us suddenly."

" I'd rather walk here out of sight," Bonello said.

" All right. We'll walk along the tracks.”

" Do you think we can get through ? ’' Ajmo asked.

" Sure. There aren't very many of them yet.
We'll go through in the dark."

" What was that staff car doing ? "

" Christ knows," I said. We kept on up the
tracks. Bonello tired of walking in the mud of the
embankment and came up with the rest of us. The
railway moved south away from the highway now
and we could not see what passed along the road. A
short bridge over a canal was blown up but we
climbed across on what was left of the span. We
heard firing ahead of us.

We came up on the railway beyond the canal, it
went on straight toward the town across the low
fields. We could see the line of the other railway

166

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

ahead of us. To the north was the main road where
we had seen the cyclists ; to the south there was a
small branch-road across the fields with thick trees on
each side. I thought we had better cut to the south
and work around the town that way and across
country towards Campoformio and the main road to
the Tagliamento. We could avoid the main line of
the retreat by keeping to the secondary roads beyond
Udine. I knew there were plenty of side-roads across
the plain. I started down the embankment.

"Come on,” I said. We would make for the side-
road and work to the south of the town. We all
started down the embankment. A shot was fired at
us from the side-road. The bullet went into the mud
of the embankment.

"Go on back,” I shouted. I started up the

embankment, slipping in the mud. The drivers were

ahead of me. I went up the embankment as fast as

I could go. Two more shots came from the thick

brush and Aymo, as he was crossing the tracks,

lurched, tripped and fell face down. We pulled him

down on the other side and turned him over. " His

head ought to be uphill,” I said. Piani moved him

around. He lay in the mud on the side of the

embankment, his feet pointing downhill, breathing

blood irregularly. The three of us squatted over

idm in the rain. He was hit low in the back of the

neck and the bullet had ranged upward and come out

under the right eye. He died while I was stopping

up the two holes. Piani laid his head down, wiped

at his face with a piece of the emergency (kessing,
then let it alone. 6 ^

“The bastards,” he said.

“They weren’t Germans,” I said. "There can’t
^^any Germans over there.”

. ^talians,” Piani said, using the word as an
pimet, " Italiani 1 ” Bonello said nothing. He was
. 7“^ beside Aymo, not looking at him. Piani
J Aymo’s cap where it had rolled down the

bankment and put it over his face. He took out
bis canteen.

187

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Do you want a drink ? ” Piani handed Bonello
the canteen.

“No,” Bonello said. He turned to me. “That
might have happened to us any time on the railway
tracks.”

“ No,” I said. “ It was because we started across
the field.”

Bonello shook his head. “ A5rmo’s dead,” he said.
“ Who's dead next, Tenente ? Where do we go, now ? ”

“ Those were Italians that shot,” I said. “ They
weren’t Germans.”

“ I suppose if they were Germans they'd have
killed all of us,” Bonello said.

“ We are in more danger from Italians than Ger¬
mans,” I said. “The rear guard are afraid of every¬
thing. The Germans know what they’re after.”

“ You reason it out, Tenente,” Bonello said.

“ Where do we go now ? ” Piani asked.

“ We better lie up some place till it’s dark. If we
could get south we’d be all right.”

“ They’d have to shoot us all to prove they were
right the first time,” Bonello said. “ I'm not going
to try them.”

“ We’ll find a place to lie up as near to Udine as
we can get and then go through when it s dark.

“ Let's go then,” Bonello said. We went down
the north side of the embankment. I looked back.
Aymo lay in the mud within the angle of the embank¬
ment. He was quite small and his arms were by his
side, his puttee-wrapped legs and muddy boots to¬
gether, his cap over his face. He looked very dead.
It was raining. I had liked him as well as anyone I
ever knew. I had his papers in my pocket and

would write to his family.

Ahead across the fields was a farmhouse. There
were trees around it and the farm buildings were
built against the house. There was a balcony along
the second floor held up by the columns.

“We better keep a little way apart,” I said. lU
go ahead.” I started toward the farmhouse. There
was a path across the field.

188

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Crossing the field, I did not know but that someone
would fire on us from the trees near the farmhouse
or from the farmhouse itself. I walked toward it,
seeing it very clearly. The balcony of the second
floor merged into the barn and there was hay coming
out between the columns. The courtyard was of
stone blocks and all the trees were dripping with the
rain. There was a big empty two-wheeled cart, the
shafts tipped high up in the rain. I came to the
courtyard, crossed it, and stood under the shelter of
the balcony. The door of the house was open and I
went in. Bonello and Piani came in after me. It
was dark inside. I went back to the kitchen. There
were ashes of a fire on the big open hearth. The pots
hung over the ashes, but they were empty. I looked
around but I could not find anything to eat.

“ We ought to lie up in the bam." I said. " Do
you think, you could find anything to eat, Piani, and
bring it up there ? "

"I’ll look,” Piani said.

" ru look too," Bonello said.

"All right," I said. "I'll go up and look at the
bam." I found a stone stairway that went up from
the stable underneath. The stable smelt dry and
pleasant in the rain. The cattle were all gone, prob¬
ably driven off when they left. The barn was half
full of hay. There were two windows in the roof, one
was blocked with boards, the other was a narrow
dormer window on the north side. There was a chute
^ that hay might be pitched down to the cattle.
Beams crossed the opening down into the main floor
where the hay carts drove in when the hay was
hauled in to be pitched up. I heard the rain on the
roof ^d smeUed the hay, and, when I. went down,
tfie clean smell of dried dung in the stable. We
could pry a board loose and see out of the south
window down into the courtyard. The other window
looked out on the field toward the north. We could
get out of either window on to the roof and down, or
file hay chute if the stairs were impractic¬
able. It was a big bam and we could hide in the

189

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

hay if we heard anyone. It seemed hke a good place.
I was store we could have gotten through to the
south if they had not fired on us. It was impos¬
sible that there were Germans there. They were
coming from the north and down the road from Civi-
dalc. They could not have come through from the
south. The Italians were even more dangerous.
They were frightened and firing on anything they
saw. Last night on the retreat we had heard that
there had been many Germans in Italian uniforms
mixing wath the retreat in the north. I did not
believe it. That was one of those things you always
heard in the war. It was one of the things the
enemv always did to you. \ou did not know anyone
who went over in German uniform to confuse them.
Maybe they did but it sounded difficult. I did not
believe the Germans did it. I did not believe they

had to. There was no need to confuse our retreat.
The size of the army and the fe^\•ness of the roads
did that. Nobody gave any orders, let alone Ger¬
mans. Still, they would shoot us for Germans. They
shot Amo. The hav smelled good and lying in a
bam in the hav took away all the years m between.
We had lain in hav and talked and shot sparrows \nth
an air-rifle when thev perched in the triangle cut high
up in the waU of the bam. The bam was gone now
and one year they had cut the hemlock woods and
there were only stumps, dried tree-tops, branches arid
fireweed where the woods had been. You coifld
not go back. If you did not go fonv’ard what
happened? You never got back to Mi|an. And if
vou got back to Milan what happened ? I listen^
to the firing to the north toward Udine. I could
hear machine-gun firing. There was no shelUng.
That was something. They must have gotten some
troops along the road. I looked down in the h^f-
light of the hay bam and saw Piam standing on the
haling floor. He had a . long ‘ sausage a jar of
something and two bottles of wine under his am
“Come up,” I said. “There is the ladder.
Then I realized that I should help him wnth the thmgs

190

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

and went down. I was vague in the liead from
lying in the hay. I had been nearly asleep.

“ Where’s Bonello ? " I asked.

“ m tell you," Piani said. We went up the
ladder. Up on the hay we set the things down.
Piani took out his knife with the corkscrew and drew
the cork of a wine-bottle.

"They have sealing-wax on it/‘ he said. "It
must be good." He smiled.

" Wliere’s Bonello ? " I asked.

Piani looked at me.

" He went away, Tenente," he said. " He
wanted to be a prisoner."

I did not say anything.

“He was afraid we would get killed."

I held the bottle of wine and did not say anything.

" You see we don’t believe in the war anyway,
Tenente."

" Why didn’t you go ? " I asked.

"I did not want to leave you."

" Where did he go ? "

" I don’t know, Tenente. He went away."

All right, I said. " Will you cut the sausage ? "
Piani looked at me in the half-light.

"I cut it while we were talking," he said. We
sat in the hay and ate the sausage and drank the
wine. It must have been wine they had saved for

cobur

“ out of this window. Luigi," I said.

1 U go look out of the other window.*^

We had each been drinking out of one of the
bottles and I took my bottle with me and went over

looked out the narrow

Sc ^ not see anything except the

I t ipaberry trees and the rain f^ng.

Th^ b^^rf^L Md it-did not. make me feel good.

and^lncf had gone to pieces

Si n fcM I '^^tched it get

k outside : the darkness came very quickly. ^It

191

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

would be a black night with the rain. When it was
dark there was no use watching any more, so I went
over to Piani. He was lying asleep and I did not
wake him but sat down beside him for a while. He
was a big man and he slept heavily. After a while I
woke him and we started.

That was a very strange night. I do not know
what I had expected — death perhaps, and shooting in
the dark, and running, but nothing happened. We
waited, lying flat beyond the ditch along the main
road while a German battahon passed, then when they
were gone we crossed the road and went on to the
north. We were very close to Germans twice in the
rain but they did not see us. We got past the town
to the north without seeing any Italians, then after a
while came on the main channels of the retreat and
walked all night toward the Tagliamento. I had not
realized how gigantic the retreat was. The whole
country was moving, as well as the army. We
walked ail night, making better time than the
vehicles. My leg ached and I was tired but we made
good time. It seemed so silly for Bonello to have
decided to be taken prisoner. There was no danger.
We had walked through two armies without incident.
If Aymo had not been killed there would never have
seemed to be any danger. No one had bothered us
when we were in plain sight along the railway. The
killing came suddenly and imreasonably. I wondered
where Bonello was.

" How do you feel, Tenente ? " Piani asked. We
were going along the side of a road crowded with
vehicles and troops.

“ Fine.”

" I'm tired of this walking.”

" Well, all we have to do is walk now. We don’t
have to worry.”

Bonello was a fool.”

” He was a fool all right.”

” What will you do about him, Tenente ? ”

” I don’t know.” ,,

Can't you just put him down as taken prisoner ?

192

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ I don’t know."

“ You see if the war went on they would make bad
trouble for his family."

" The war won’t go on," a soldier said. " We’re
going home. The war is over."

" Everybody's going home."

" We're all going home."

" Come on, Tenente," Piani said. He wanted to
get past them.

" Tenente ? Who’s a Tenente ? A basso gli
uffiaali ! Down with the officers ! ' ’

Piani took me by the arm. " I better call you by
your name," he said. " They might try and make
trouble. They’ve shot some officers." We worked
up past them.

“ I won’t make a report that will make trouble for
his family." I went on with our conversation.

" If the war is over it makes no difference," Piani
said. " But I don’t believe it's over. It’s too good
that- it should be over."

" We'll know pretty soon,” I said.

" I don't believe it's over. They all think it's
over but I don’t believe it."

** Ewiva la Pace I “ a soldier shouted out.
" We're going home.”

It would be fine if we all went home,” Piani
said. “ Wouldn’t you like to go home ? "

" Yes.”

We’ll never go. I don't think it's over.”

" Andtamo a casa / " a soldier shouted.

throw away their riaes.” Piani said.

They take them off and drop them down while they're
marching. Then they shout.”

‘‘They ought to keep their riaes."

They think if they throw away their rffies they
can t make them aght.”

our way along

the side of the road I could see that many of the

troops still had their rides. They stuck up above the
capes.

What brigade are you? *' an officer called out.

193

o

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Brigata di Pace,” someone shouted. “ Peace
Brigade ! ” The officer said nothing.

“ What does he say ? What does the officer say ? ’*

"Down with the officer. Evviva la Pace!”

” Come on,” Piani said. We passed two British
ambulances, abandoned in the block of vehicles.

” They’re from Gorizia,” Piani said. "I know
the cars.”

” They got farther than we did.”

" They started earlier.”

" I wonder where the drivers are ? ”

" Up ahead probably.”

” The Germans have stopped outside Udine,” I
said. “ These people will all get across the river.”

" Yes,” Piani said. '' That's why I think the war
will go on.”

“The Germans could come on,” I said. “I
wonder why they don't come on.”

“ I don’t know. I don't know anything about
this kind of war.”

“ They have to wait for their transport I suppose.”

“ I don't know,” Piani said. Alone he was much
gentler. When he was with the others he was a
very rough talker.

“ Are you married, Luigi ? ”

“ You know I am married.”

“ Is that why you did not want to be a prisoner ? ”

“ That is one reason. Are you married, Tenente ? ”

“No.”

" Neither is Bonello.”

“ You can't tell anything by a man’s being married.
But I should think a married man would want to get
back to his wife,” I said. I would be glad to talk
about wives.

“ Yes.”

“ How are your feet ? ”

“ They’re sore enough.”

Before daylight we reached the bank of the Taglia-
mento and followed down along the flooded river to
the bridge where all the traffic was crossing.

" They ought to be able to hold at this river,

194

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Piani said. In the dark the flood looked high. The
water swirled and it was wide. The wooden bridge
was nearly three-quarters of a mile across, and the
river that usually ran in narrow channels in the wide
stony bed far below the bridge was close under the
wooden planking. We went along the bank and
then worked our way into the crowd that were cross¬
ing the bridge. Crossing slowly in the rain a few feet
above the flood, pressed tight in the crowd, the box
of an artillery caisson just ahead, I looked over the
side and watched the river. Now that we could not
go our own pace I felt very tired. There was no
exhilaration in crossing the bridge. I wondered
what it would be like if a plane bombed it in the day¬
time.

“ Piani,” I said.

” Here I am, Tenente.” He was a little ahead in
the jam. No one was talking. They were all trying
to get across as soon as they could : thinking only
of that. We were almost across. At the far end of
the bridge there were officers and carabinieri stand¬
ing on both sides flashing lights. I saw them
silhouetted against the sky-line. As we came close
to them I saw one of the officers point to a man in
the column. A carabiniere went in after him and
came out holding the man by the arm. He took him
away from the road. We came almost opposite
them. The officers were scrutinizing every one in the
column, sometimes speaking to each other, going for¬
ward to flash a light in someone’s face. They took
someone else out just before we came opposite. I
saw the man. He was a lieutenant-colonel. I saw
the stars in the box on his sleeve as they flashed a
light on him. His hair was grey and he was short
^d fat. The carabiniere pulled him in behind the
line of officers. As we came opposite I saw one or
two of them look at me. Then one pointed at me
and spoke to a carabiniere. I saw the carabiniere
start for me, come through the edge of the column
toward me, then felt him take me by the collar.

“ What’s the matter with you ? ” I said and hit

195

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

him in the face. I saw his face under the hat, up¬
turned moustaches, and blood coming down his cheek.
Another one dived in towards us.

" What's the matter with you ? ” I said. He did
not answer. He was watching a chance to grab me.
I put my arm behind me to loosen my pistol.

" Don't you know you can’t touch an officer ? ”

The other one grabbed me from behind and pulled
my arm up so that it twisted in the socket. I turned
with him and the other one grabbed me around the
neck. I kicked his shins and got my left knee into
his groin.

" Shoot him if he resists,” I heard someone say.

" What's the meaning of this ? " I tried to shout
but my voice was not very loud. They had me at
the side of the road now.

“Shoot him if he resists,” an officer said. "Take
liim over back.”

“ Who are you ? ”

“ You'll find out.”

“ Who are you ? ”

“ Battle pohce,” another officer said.

“ Wliy don't you ask me to step over instead of
having one of these airplanes grab me.”

They did not answer. They did not have to
answer. They were battle police.

" Take him back there with the others,” the first
officer said. “ You see. He speaks Italian \vith an
accent.”

“ So do you, you bastard,” I said.

“ Take him back with the others,” the first officer
said. They took me down behind the line of officers
below the road toward a group of people in a field by
the river bank. As we walked toward them shots
were fired. I saw flashes of the rifles and heard the
reports. We came up to the ^oup. There were
four officers standing together, with a man in front
of them with a carabiniere on each side of him. A
group of men were standing guarded by carabinieri.
Four other carabinieri stood near the questiomng
officers, leaning on their carbines. They were wide-

196

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

hatted carabinieri. The two who had me shoved me
in with the group waiting to be questioned. I
looked at the man the officers were questioning. He
was the fat, grey-haired, little lieutenant-colonel they
had taken out of the column. The questioners had
all the efficiency,
selves of Italians
-fired Qh.

“ Your Brigade ? ”

He told them.

“ Regiment ? "

He told them.

“ Why are you not with your regiment ? ”

He told them.

“ Do you know that an officer should be with his
troops ? "

“He did.”

That was all. Another officer spoke.

” It is you and such as you that have let the
barbarians on to the sacred soil of the fatherland.”

” I beg your pardon,” said the lieutenant-colonel.

” It is because of treachery such as yours that we
have lost the fruits of victory.”

“ Have you ever been in a retreat ? ” the lieutenant-
colonel asked.

” Italy should never retreat.”

We stood there in the rain and listened to this.
We were facing the officers and the prisoner stood
in front and a little to one side of us.

“ If you are going to shoot me,” the lieutenant-
colonel said, “ please shoot me at once without
further questioning. The questioning is stupid.”
He made the sign of the cross. The officers spoke
together. One wrote something on a pad of paper.

Abandoned his troops, ordered to be shot,” he
said.

Two carabinieri took the lieutenant-colonel to the
He walked in the rain, an old man with
his hat off, a carabiniere on either side. I did not
watch them shoot him but I heard the shots. They
were questioning someon^qlse. This officer too was

(%

coldness and command of them-

are

and are

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

separated from his troops. He was not allowed to
make an explanation. He cried when they read the
sentence from the pad of paper and cried while they
led him off, and they were questioning another when
they shot him. They made a point of being intent
on questioning the next man while the man who had
been questioned before was being shot. In this way
there was obviously nothing they could do about it.
I did not know whether I should wait to be questioned
or make a break now. I was obviously a German in
Italian uniform. I saw how their minds worked ; if
they had minds and if they worked. They were all
young men and they were saving their country. The
second army was being reformed beyond the Taglia-
mento. They were executing officers of the rank of
major and above who were separated from their
troops. They were also dealing summarily with Ger¬
man agitators in Italian uniform. They wore steel
helmets. Only two of us had steel helmets. Some of
the carabinieri had them. The other carabinieri wore
the wide hat. Airplanes we called them. We stood
in the rain and were taken out one at a time to be
questioned and shot. So far they had shot every
one they had questioned. The questioners had that
beautiful detachment and devotion to stem justice of
men dealing in death without being in any danger of
it. They were questioning a full colonel of a line
regiment. Three more officers had just been put in
with us.

Where was his regiment ?

I looked at the carabinieri. They were looking at
the newcomers. The others were looking at the
colonel. I ducked down, pushed between two men,
and ran for the river, my head down. I tripped at
the edge and went in with a splash. The water was
very cold and I stayed under as long as I could. I
could feel the current swirl me and I stayed under
until I thought I could never come up. The minute I
came up I took a breath and went down again. It
was easy to stay under with so much clothing and
my boots. When I came up the second time I saw

193

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

a piece of timber ahead of me and reached it and
held on with one hand. I kept my head behind it
and did not even look over it. I did not want to see
the bank. There were shots wlien 1 ran and shots
when I came up the first time. I heard them when I
was almost above water. There were no shots now.
The piece of timber swung in the current and I held
it with one hand. I looked at the bank. It seemed
to be going by very fast. There was much wood in
the stream. The water was very cold. We passed
the brush of an island above the water. I held on
to the timber with both hands and let it take me
along. The shore was out of sight now.

CHAPTER XXXI

You do not know how long you are in a river when
the current moves swiftly. It seems a long time and
it may be very short. The water was cold and in
flood and many things passed that had been floated off
the banks when the river rose. I was lucky to have
a heavy timber to hold on to, and I lay in the icy
water Nvith my chin on the wood, holding as easily as
I could with both hands. I was afraid of cramp and
I hoped we would move toward the shore. We went
down the river in a long curve. It was beginning to
be light enough so I could see the bushes along the
shore-line. There was a brush island ahead and the
current moved toward the shore. I wondered if I
should take off my boots and clothes and try to swim
ashore, but decided not to. I had never thought of
anything but that I would reach the shore some way,
and I would be in a bad position if I landed barefoot.
I had to get to Mestre some way.

I watched the shore come close, then swing away,
then come closer again. We were floating more
slowly. The shore was very close now. I could see
twigs on the willow bush. The timber swung slowly
so that the bank was behind me and I knew we were
in an eddy. We went slowly around. As I saw the

199

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

bank again, very close now, I tried holding %vith one
arm and kicking and swimming the timber toward
the bank with the other, but I did not bring it any
closer. I was afraid we would move out of the eddy
and, holding with one hand, I drew up my feet so they
were against the side of the timber and shoved hard
toward the bank. I could see the brush, but even
with my momentum and swimming as hard as I
could, the current was taking me away. I thought
then I would drown because of my boots, but I
thrashed and fought through the water, and when I
looked up the bank was coming toward me, and I
kept thrashing and swimming in a heavy-footed panic
until I reached it. I himg to the \\illow branch and
did not have strength to pull myself up but I knew I
would not drown now. It had never occurred to me
on the timber that I might drown. I felt hollow and
sick in my stomach and chest from the effort, and I
held to the branches and waited. When the sick feel¬
ing was gone I pulled in to the willow bushes and
rested again, my arms around some brush, holding
tight with my hands to the branches. Then I
crawled out, pushed on through the willows and on to
the bank. It was half-daylight and I saw no one. I lay
flat on the bank and heard the river and the rain.

After a while I got up and started along the bank.
I knew there was no bridge across the river until
Latisana. I thought I might be opposite San Vito.
I began to think out what I should do. Ahead there
was a ditch running into the river. I went toward it.
So far I had seen no one and I sat down by some
bushes along the bank of the ditch and took off my
shoes and emptied them of water. I took off my coat,
took my wallet with my papers and my money all
wet in it out of the inside pocket and then wrung the
coat out. I took off my trousers and wrung them to(^
then my shirt and underclothing. I slapped and
rubbed myself and then dressed again. I had lost my

cap. „

Before I put on my coat I cut the cloth stars on

my sleeves and put them in the inside pocket with my

200

money. My money was wet but was ail riglit. I
counted it. There were three thousand and some lire.
My clothes felt wet and clammy and I slapp>ed my
arms to keep the circulation going. I had woollen
underwear and I did not think I would catch cold if I
kept moving. They had taken my pistol at the road
and I put the holster under my coat. I had no cape
and it was cold in the rain. I started up the bank of
the canal. It was daylight and the country was wet,
low and dismal looking. The fields were bare and
wet ; a long way away I could see a campanile rising
out of the plain. I came up on to a road. Ahead I
saw some troops coming down the road. I limped
along the side of the road and they passed me and paid
no attention to me. They were a machine-gun
detachment going up toward the river. I went on
down the road.

That day I crossed the Venetian plain. It is a low
level country and under the rain it is even flatter. To¬
ward the sea there are salt marshes and very few
roads. The roads all go along the river mouths to
the sea and to cross the country you must go along
the paths beside the canals. I was working acro4
the country from the north to the south and had
crossed two railway lines and many roads and finally
I ^e out at the end of a path on to a railway line

from ® line

I ® “lid embank-

on guard. Up the hne there was a bridge over a
stream that flowed into the marsh. I coidd lee a

I had* s i^^ssing the fields to the

no^ I had seen a tram pass on this railroad visible

a long way across the flat plain, and I t Wht a trSn

mght come from Portogrumo. I watched fhe ™arfs

both mvs ^ fn * embankment so that I coidd see

Ti»e guard at the bridge
tKon + way up the line toward where I lav

then turned and went back toward the brid^r I av
end was hungry, and waited for on^i

\

201

G

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

had seen was so long that the engine moved it very
slowly, and I was sure I could get aboard it. After I
had almost given up hoping for one I saw a train
coming. The engine, coming straight on, grew larger
slowly. I looked at the guard at the bridge. He
was walking on the near side of the bridge but on
the other side of the track. That would put him out
of sight when the train passed. I watched the engine
come nearer. It was working hard. I could see
there were many cars. I knew there would be
guards on the train, and I tried to see where they
were, but, keeping out of sight, I could not. The
engine was almost to where I was lying. Wlien it
came opposite, working and puffing even on the level,
and I saw the engineer pass, I stood up and stepped
up close to the passing cars. If the guards were
watching I was a less suspicious object standing be¬
side the track. Several closed freight-cars passed.
Then I saw a low open car of the sort they call
gondolas coming, covered with canvas. I stood until
it had almost passed, then jumped and caught the
rear hand-rods and pulled up. I crawled down be¬
tween the gondola and the shelter of the high freight-
car behind. I did not think anyone had seen me. I
was holding to the hand-rods and crouching low, rny
feet on the coupling. We were almost opposite the
bridge. I remembered the guard. As we p^ed
him he looked at me. He was a boy and his helmet
was too big for him. I stared at him contemptuously
and he looked away. He thought I had something to ,

do with the train. . ,

We were past. I saw him still looking uncomffirt-
able, watching the other cars pass and I stooped o
see how the canvas was fastened. It had grumme s
and was laced down at the edge with cord. I tooK
out my knife, cut the cord and put my
There were hard bulges under the canvas that tight¬
ened in the rain. I looked up and aliead. There was
a guard on the freight-car ahead but he w^ looking
forward. I let go of the hand-rails and ducked under
the canvas. My forehead hit something that gave me

202

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

a violent bump and I felt blood on my face but I
crawled on in and lay flat. Then I turned around and
fastened down the canvas.

I was in under the canvas with guns. They smelled
cleanly of oil and grease. I lay and listened to the
rain on the canvas and the clicking of the car over
the rails. There was a little light came through and
I lay and looked at the guns. They had their canvas
jackets on. I thought they must have been sent ahead
from the third army. The bump on my forehead was
swollen and I stopped the bleeing by lying still and
letting it coagulate, then picked away the dried blood
except over the cut. It was nothing, I had no hand¬
kerchief, but feeling with my fingers I washed away
where the dried blood had been, with rain-water that
dripped from the canvas, and wiped it clean with the
sleeve of my coat. I did not want to look conspicuous.
I knew I would have to get out before they got
to Mestre because they would be taking care of these

guns. They had no guns to lose or forget about. I
was terrifically hungry.

CHAPTER XXXII

Lying on the floor of the flat-car with the guns beside
me under the canvas I was wet. cold, and very
hungry. Finally I rolled over and lay flat on my

“y "'as

dnn; = satisfactory. Valentini had

done half the retreat on foot
tls if Tagliamento with his knee. It

D^ctoff knee was mine,

bodf ^n, ‘kmgs to you and then it was not your

f^^t was very hungry in there. I could

not to on Itself. The head was mine, but

not tnn m' thi^ with ; only to remember and

not too much remember.

I could remember Catherine but I knew I would get

203

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

crazy if I thought about her when I was not sure yet
I would see her, so I would not think about her, only
about her a little, only about her with the car going
slowly and clickingly, and some light through the
canvas, and my lying with Catherine on the floor of
the car. Hard as the floor of the car to lie not think¬
ing only feeling, having been away too long, the
clothes wet and the floor moving only a little each
time and lonesome inside and alone with wet clothing
and hard floor for a wife.

You did not love the floor of a flat-car nor guns
with canvas jackets and the smell of vaselined metal
or a canvas that rain leaked through, although it is
very fine under a canvas and pleasant with guns ; but
you loved someone else whom now you knew was not
even to be pretended there ; you seeing now very
clearly and coldly — not so coldly as clearly and
emptily. You saw emptily, lying on your stomach,
having been present when one army moved back and
another came forward. You had lost your cars and
your men as a floorwalker loses the stock of his
department in a fire. There was, however, no
insurance. You were out of it now. You had no
more obligation. If they shot floorwalkers after a fire
in the department store because they spoke with an
accent they had always had, then certainly the floor¬
walkers would not be expected to return when the
store opened again for business. They might seek
other employment ; if there was any other employ¬
ment and the police did not get them.

Anger was washed away in the river along with
any obligation. Although that ceased when the cara¬
biniere put his hands on my collar. I would like to
have had the uniform off although I did not care much
about the outward forms. I had taken off the stars,
but that was for convenience. It was no point of
honour. I was not against them. I was through. I
wished them all the luck. There were the good onw,
and the brave ones, and the calm ones and the
sensible ones, and they deserved it. But it was not
my show any more and I wished this bloody train

204

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

would get to Mestre and I would eat and stop think¬
ing. I would have to stop.

Piani would tell them they had shot me. They went
through the pockets and took the papers of the people
they shot. They would not have my papers. They
might call me drowned. I wondered what they would
hear in the States. Dead from wounds and other
causes. Good Christ, I was hungry. I wondered
what had become of the priest at the mess. And
Rinaldi. He was probably at Pordenone. If they
had not gone farther back. Well, I would never see
1^ now. I would never see any of them now. That
life was over. I did not think he had syphilis. It
was not a serious disease anyway if you took it in
time, they said. But— be would \vorrv. I would
worry too if I had it. ^uiyone would worr^ '

Tjyas not made to tnink. I was made to eat. My
yes. Lat an'd annK ana sleep ' wilh Catherine.
To-night maybe. No, that was impossible. But to¬
morrow night, and a good meal and sheets and never
going away again except together. Probably have to
go damned quickly. She would go. I knew she
would go. When would we go? That was some¬
thing to think about. It was getting dark. I lay
and thought where we would go. There were many

N

mOK FOUR

CHAPTER XXXIII

I DROPPED off the train in Milan as it slowed to come
into the station early in the morning before it was
light. I crossed the track and came out between
some buildings and down on to the street. A wine
shop was open and I went in for some coffee. It
smelled of early morning, of swept dust, spoons in
coffee-glasses and the wet circles left by wine-glasses.
The proprietor was behind the bar. Two soldiers sat
at a table. I stood at the bar and drank a glass of
coffee and ate a piece of bread. The coffee was grey
with milk, and I skimmed the milk scum off the top
with a piece of bread. The proprietor looked at me.
" You want a glass of grappa ? ”

“ No thanks."

"On me," he said and poured a small glass and
pushed it toward me. " What's happening at the
front ? ”

" I would not know."

"They are drunk," he said, moving his hand to¬
ward the two soldiers. I could believe him. They
looked drunk.

"Tell me," he said, "what is happening at the
front ? ”

" I would not know about the front."

I saw you coine down the wall. You came on

the train."

" There is a big retreat."

" I read the papers. WTiat happens ? Is it over ?

" I don’t think so."

He filled the glass with grappa from a short bottle.
" If you are in trouble," he said, " I can keep

you.”

" I am not in trouble."

" If you are in trouble stay here with me.

206

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Where does one stay ? ”

“ In the building. Many stay here. Any who are
in trouble stay here.”

“ Are many in trouble ? ”

" It depends on the trouble. You are a South
American ? ”

” No.”

" Speak Spanish ? ”

" A Httle.”

He wiped off the bar.

” It is hard now to leave the country but in no
way impossible.”

“ I have no wish to leave.”

“ You can stay here as long as you want. You
will see what sort of man I am.”

“ I have to go this morning but I will remember
the address to return.”

He shook his head. ” You won't come back if
you talk like that. I thought you were in real
trouble.”

I am in no trouble. But I value the address of a
friend.”

I put a ten-lira note on the bar to pay for the coffee.

Have a grappa with me,” I said.

“ It is not necessary.”

” Have one.”

He poured the two glasses.

" Remember.” he said. ” Come here. Do not
let other people take you in. Here you are all right.”
I am sure.” ^

” You are sure ? ”

" Yes.”

He was serious. " Then let me tell you one thing
, Do not go about with that coat." ^

Why ? ”

the sleeves it shows very plainly where the
coto/^™ “ * different

I <hd not say anything.

ft

207

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Leave papers."

" I have no need for papers. I have papers."

"All right,” he said. “But if you need papers I
can get what you wish.”

" How much are such papers ? ”

" It depends on what they are. The price is
reasonable.”

" I don't need anv now.”

He slirugged his shoulders.

" Tm all right,” I said.

W^ien I went out he said, " Don't forget that I am
your friend.”

“No.”

“ I will see you again,” he said.

“ Good,” I said.

Outside I kept away from the station, where there
were military police, and picked up a cab at the edge
of the little park. I gave the driver the address of
the hospital. At the hospital I went to the porters’
lodge. His wife embraced me. He shook my hand.

“ You are back. You are safe.”

“ Yes.”

“ Have you had breakfast ? ”

“Yes.”

“ How are you, Tenente ? How are you ? ” the
wife asked.

“ Fine.”

“ Won’t you have breakfast with us ? ”

“ No. thank you. Tell me is Miss Barkley here at
the hospital now ? ”

“ Miss Barkley ? ”

“ The English lady nurse.”

“His girl,” the wife said. She patted my arm
and smiled.

"No,” the porter said. "She is away.”

My heart went down. “ You are sure ? I mean
the tall blonde English young lady.”

“ I am sure. She is gone to Stresa.”

“ When did she go ? ”

“ She went two days ago with the other lady
English.”

208

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

"Good,” I said. "I wish you to do something
for me. Do not tell anyone you have seen me. It
is very important.”

"I won’t tell anyone,” the porter said. I gave
him a ten-lira note. He pushed it away.

" I promise you 1 will tell no one,” he said. " I
don't want any money.”

" What can we do for you, Signor Tenente ? ” his
wife asked.

" Only that,” I said.

" We are dumb,” the porter said. " You will let
me know anything I can do ? ”

" Yes,” I said. " Good-bye. I will see you
again.”

They stood in the door, looking after me.

I got into the cab and gave the driver the address
of Simmons, one of the men I knew who was studying
singing.

Simmons lived a long way out in the town toward
the Porta Magenta. He was still in bed and sleepy
when I went to see him.

' " You get up awfully early, Henry,” he said.

" I came in on the early train.”

"What’s all this retreat ? Were you at the front ?
Will you have a cigarette ? They’re in that box on
the table.” It was a big room with a bed beside
the wall, a piano over on the far side and a dresser
and table. I sat on a chair by the bed. Simmons
sat propped up by the pillows and smoked.

‘‘ I'm in a jam, Sim,” I said.

So am I,” he said. " I'm always in a jam.
Won t you smoke ? ”

No, I said. " What’s the procedure in going
to Switzerland ? ” ^ b

“ For you ? The Italians wouldn't let you out of
the country.”

‘lie Swiss. What wiU

they do ?

" They intern you.”

I know. But what’s the mechanics of it? ”

Nothing. It s very simple. You can go any-

209

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

where. I think you just have to report or something.
Why ? Are you fleeing the police ? "

“ Nothing definite yet."

" Don't tell me if you don’t want. But it would
be interesting to hear. Nothing happens here. I
was a great flop at Piacenza."

"I’m awfully sorry."

" Oh, yes — I went very badly. I sang well too.
I'm going to try it again at the Lyrico here.”

" I'd like to be there."

" You’re awfully poUte. You aren’t in a bad mess,
are you ? "

" I don’t know."

" Don’t tell me if you don’t want. How do you
happen to be away from the bloody front ? "

“ I think I’m through with it.”

" Good boy. I always knew you had sense. Can
I help you any way ? ”

" You're awfully busy."

" Not a bit of it, my dear Henry. Not a bit of it.
I’d be happy to do anything."

" You’re about my size. Would you go out and
buy me an outfit of civilian clothes ? I’ve clothes but
they’re all at Rome."

" You did live there, didn't you ? It’s a filthy
place. How did you ever live there ? ”

" I wanted to be an architect.”

" That’s no place for that. Don’t buy clothes.
I’ll give you all the clothes you want. I’ll fit you out
so you’ll be a great success. Go in that dressing-
room. There’s a closet. Take anything you want.
My dear fellow, you don't want to buy clothes."

" I’d rather buy them, Sim.”

" My dear fellow, it’s easier for me to let you have
them than go out and buy them. Have you got
a passport ? You won't go far without a passport.”

" Yes. I’ve still got my passport.”

" Then get dressed, my dear fellow, and off to old
Helvetia.”

" It’s not that simple. I have to go up to Stresa
first."

210

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

"Ideal, my dear fellow. You just row a boat
across. If I wasn’t trying to sing, I’d go with you.
ru go yet.’’

"You could take up yodelling."

"My dear fellow, I’ll take up yodelling yet. I
really can sing though. That’s the strange part.”

■‘I’ll bet you can sing."

He lay back in bed smoking a cigarette.

" Don’t bet too much. But I can sing though.
It’s damned funny, but I can. I like to sing. Listen."
He roared into " Africana," his neck swelling, the
veins standing out. " I can sing," he said. " Whether
they like it or not.” I looked out of the window.
" I'll go down and let my cab go.”

" Come back up, my dear fellow, and we’ll have
breakfast.” He stepped out of bed, stood straight,
took a deep breath and commenced doing bending
exercises. I went downstairs and paid off the cab.

CHAPTER XXXIV

In civilian clothes I felt a masquerader. I had been
in uniform a long time and I missed the feeling of
being held by your clothes. The trousers felt very
floppy. I had bought a ticket at Milan for Stresa.

I had also bought a new hat. I could not wear Sim's
hat but his clothes were fine. They smelled of tobacco
and as I sat in the compartment and looked out the
window the new hat felt very new and the clothes very
old. I myself felt as sad as the wet Lombard country
that was outside through the window. There were some
a\nators in the compartment who did not think much of
me. They avoided looking at me and were very scornful
of a civilian my age. I did not feel insulted. In the old
days I would have insulted them and picked a fight.
They got off at Gallarate and I was glad to be alone. I

had the paper but I did not read it because I did not i
want to ^ea4about,the ,

I felt damned

lonely was glad when-thf train got to Stresa.

^211

/ V.

4

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

At the station I had expected to see the porters
from the hotels but there was no one. The season
had been over a long time and no one met the train.
I got down from the train with my bag, it was Sim's
bag, and very light to carry, being empty except for
two shirts, and stood imder the roof of the station in
the rain while the train went on. I found a man in
the station and asked him if he knew what hotels
were open. The Grand Hotel des lies Borrom^es
was open and several small hotels that stayed open
all the year. I started in the rain for the lies
Borromees carrying my bag. I saw a carriage
coming down the street and signalled to the driver.
It was better to arrive in a carriage. We drove up
to the carriage entrance of the big hotel and the con¬
cierge came out with an umbrella and was very polite.

I took a good room. It was very big and light
and looked out on the lake. The clouds were down
over the lake but it would be beautiful with the sun¬
light. I was expecting my wife, I said. There was
a big double-bed, a letto matritnoniale, with a satin
coverlet. The hotel was very luxurious. I went
do^vn the long halls, down the wide stairs, through
the rooms to the bar. I knew the barman and sat on
a high stool and ate salted almonds and potato chips.
The martini felt cool and clean.

“ What are you doing here in borghese} ” the bar¬
man asked after he had mixed a second martini.

” I am on leave. Convalescing-leav'e."

" There is no one here. I don’t know why they
keep the hotel open.”

” Have you been fishing ? ”

” I've caught some beautiful pieces. Trolling this
time of year you catch some beautiful pieces.”

” Did you ever get the tobacco I sent ? ”

“ Yes. Didn’t you get my card ? ”

I laughed. I had not been able to get the tobacco.
It was American pipe-tobacco that he wanted, but my
relatives had stopped sending it or it was being held
up. Anyway it never came.

” I’ll get some somewhere,” I said. "Tell me

212

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

have you seen two English girls in the town ? They
came here day before yesterday.”

" They are not at the hotel.”

"They are nurses.”

" I have seen two nurses. Wait a minute, I will
find out where they are.”

" One of them is my wife,” I said. " I have come
here to meet her.”

“ The other is my wife.”

" I am not joking.”

" Pardon my stupid joke,” he said. “ I did not
understand.” He went away and was gone quite a
little while. I ate olives, salted almonds and potato
chips and looked at myself in civilian clothes in the
mirror behind the bar. The bartender came back.
" They are at the little hotel near the station,” he
said.

” How about some sandwiches ? ”

"I’ll ring for some. You understand there is
nothing here, now there are no people.”

“ Isn’t there really anyone at all ? ”

" Yes. There are a few people.”

The sandwiches came and I ate three and drank a
couple more martinis. I had never tasted anything
so cool and clean. They made me feel civilized. I
had had too much red wine, bread, cheese, bad coffee
and grappa. I sat on the high stool before the
pleasant mahogany, the brass and the mirrors and did

not think at all. The barman asked me some
question.

" Don't talk about the war,” I said. The war was
a long way away. Maybe there wasn’t any war.
There was no war here. Then I realized it was over
for me. But I did not have the feeling that it was
r^y over. I had the feeling of a boy who thinks
of what is happening at a certain hour at the school-
nouse from which he has played truant

Catherine and Helen Ferguson were at supper
when I c^e to their hotel. Standing in the haUwav
them at table. Catherine’s face was away

213

I

saw

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

from me and I saw the line of her hair and her cheek
and her lovely neck and shoulders. Ferguson was talk¬
ing. She stopped when I came in.

“ My God,” she said.

"HeUo/'Isaid.

" Why it’s you ! ” Catherine said. Her face
lighted up. She looked too happy to believe it. I
kissed her. Catherine blushed and I sat down at the
table.

” You're a fine mess,” Ferguson said. " What
are you doing here ? Have you eaten ? ”

” No.” The girl who was serving the meal came
in and I told her to bring a plate for me. Catherine
looked at me all the time, her eyes happy.

" What are you doing in mufti ? ” Ferguson asked-

" I’m in the Cabinet.”

” You’re in some mess.”

” Cheer up, Fergy. Cheer up just a httle.”

” I’m not cheered by seeing you. I know the mess
you've gotten this girl into. You’re no cheerful
sight to me.”

Catherine smiled at me and touched me with her
foot under the table.

” No one got me in a mess, Fergy. I get in my
own messes.”

'' I can’t stand him,” Ferguson said. ” He's
done nothing but ruin you with his sneaking Italian
tricks. Americans are worse than Italians.”

” The Scotch are such a moral people,” Catherine
said.

” I don’t mean that. I mean his Italian sneakiness.”

” Am I sneaky, Fergy ? ”

“You are. You’re worse than sneaky. You re
like a snake. A snake with an Italia^^niform ; with
a cape around your neck.”

'* I haven’t got an Italian unifom now.”

“That’s just another e.xample of your sneakine^.
You had a love affair all summer and got this girl
with child and now I suppose you’ll sneak off.

I smiled at Catherine and she smiled at me.

“We’ll both sneak off,” she said.

214

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“You’re two of the same thing,” Ferguson said.

I’m ashamed of you, Catherine Barkley. You
have no shame and no honour and you're as sneaky
ds h©

“ Don’t, Fergy,” Catherine said, and patted her
hand. ” Don’t denounce me. You know we like
each other.”

“ Take your hand away,” Ferguson said. Her
face was red. “ If you had any shame it would be
different. But you’re God knows how many months
gone with child and you think it’s a joke and are all
smiles because your seducer’s come back. You’ve no
shame and no feelings.” She began to cry. Catherine
went over and put her arm around her. As she stood
comforting Ferguson, I could see no change in lier
figure.

“ I don’t care,” Ferguson sobbed. ” I think it's
dreadful.”

” There, there, Fergy,” Catherine comforted her.
” rU be ashamed. Don't cry, Fergy. Don’t cry, old
Fergy.”

” I’m not crying,” Ferguson sobbed. ” I'm not
crying. Except for the awful thing you’ve gotten
into.” She looked at me. “ I hate you,” she said.
” She can’t make me not hate you. You dirty
sneaking American Italian.” Her eyes and nose were
red with crying.

Catherine smiled at me.

” Don’t you smile at him with your arm around
me.”

” You’re unreasonable, Fergy.”

” I know it,” Ferguson sobbed. ” You mustn't
mind me, either of you. I’m so upset. I’m not
reasonable. I know it. I want you both to be
happy.”

” We’re happy,” Catherine said. ” You're a sweet.
Fergy.” ,

Ferguson cried again. ”I don’t want you happy
the way you are. Why don’t you get married ? You
haven t got another wife, have you ? ”

“ No,” I said. Catherine laughed.

215

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" It’s nothing to laugh about," Ferguson said.
“ Plenty of them have other wives."

" We’U be married, Fergy," Catherine said, "if
it will please you."

" Not to please me. You should want to be
married."

" We’ve been very busy."

"Yes. I know. Busy making babies.” I
thought she was going to cry again but she went into
bitterness instead. " I suppose you’ll go off with
him now to-night ? "

" Yes," said Catherine. " If he wants me."

" What about me ? "

" Are you afraid to stay here alone ? "

" Yes, I am.”

"Then I’ll stay with you.”

" No, go on with him. Go with him right away.
I’m sick of seeing both of you."

"We'd better finish dinner."

" No. Go right away."

" Fergy, be reasonable.”

" I say get out right away. Go away both of
you."

" Let’s go then,” I said. I was sick of Fergy.

" You do want to go. You see you want to leave
me even to eat dinner alone. I've always wanted to
go to the Italian lakes and this is how it is. Oh, oh,"
she sobbed, then looked at Catherine and choked.

"We’ll stay till after dinner," Catherine said.
" And I’ll not leave you alone if you want me to stay.

I won’t leave you alone, Fergy.”

“ No. No. I want you to go. I want you to
go.” She wiped her eyes. "I’m so unreasonable.
Please don’t mind me."

The girl who served the meal had been upset by all
the crying. Now as she brought in the next course
she seemed relieved that things were better.

That night at the hotel, in our rooni with the long
empty hall outside and our shoes outside the door, a
thick carpet on the floor of the room, outside the

216

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

windows the rain falling and in the room light and
pleasant and cheerful, then the light out and it excit¬
ing with smooth sheets and the bed comfortable, feel¬
ing that we had come home, feeling no longer alone,
waking in the night to find the other one there, and
not gone away ; all other things were unreal. We
slept when we were tired and if we woke the other
one woke too so one was not alone. Often a man
wishes to be alone and a girl wishes to be alone too
^d if they love each other they are jealous of that
in each other, but I can truly say we never felt that.
We could feel alone when we were together, alone
against the others. It has only happened to me like
that once. I have been alone while I was with many
girls and that is the way that you can be most lonely.
But we were never lonely and never afraid when we
were together. I know that the night is not the same
as the day : that all things are different, that the
things of the night cannot be explained in the day,
because they do not then exist, and the night can be
a dreadful time for lonely p>eople once their loneliness
h^ started. But with Catherine there was almost no
dmerence in the night except that it was an even
better time. If people bring so much courage to this
world the world has to kill them to break them, so of
course it kills them. The world breaks every one and
^terward many are strong at the broken places. But
those that not break it kills. It kills the very
good and the very gentle and the very brave
mpartiaUy If you are none of these you can be

special

waking in the morning. Catherine
asleep and the sunlight was coming in through

of stopped and I stepped oS

hi}t the window .Do^

r^lT gardens, bare now but beautiMv

paths, the trees, the stone wall bv
tte lake and the lake m the sunlight with the moun
ains beyond. I stood at the window looking out

217

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

when I turned away I saw Catherine was awake and
watching me.

“ How are you, darling ? ” she said. “ Isn’t it a
lovely day ? "

" How do you feel ? "

“ I feel very well. We had a lovely night.”

” Do you want breakfast ? ”

She wanted breakfast. So did 1 and we had it in
bed, the November sunlight coming in the \vindow,
and the breakfast tray across my lap.

“ Don’t you want the paper ? You always wanted
the paper in the hospital.”

” No,” I said. ” I don’t want the paper now.”

” Was it so bad you don’t want even to read about
it? ”

” I don’t want to read about it.”

” I wish I had been with you so I would know
about it too.”

” I’ll tell you about it if I ever get it straight in
my head.”

“ But won’t they arrest you if they catch you out
of uniform ? ”

” They'll probably shoot me.”

” Then we'll not stay here. We'll get out of the ■
country.”

“ I'd thought something of that.”

” We'll get out. Darling, you shouldn't take silly
chances. Tell me how did you come from Mestre to
Milan ? ”

” I came on the train. I was in uniform then.”

” Weren't you in danger then ? ”

" Not much. I had an old order of movement. I
fixed the dates on it in Mestre.”

” Darling, you're liable to be arrested here Jmy
time. I won't have it. It's silly to do something
like that. Where would we be if they took you off ?

” Let’s not think about it. I’m tired of thinking

about it.”

” What would you do if they came to

arrest you ? ”

” Shoot them.”

218

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" You see how silly you are, I won’t let you go
out of the hotel until we leave here.”

“ Where are we going to go ? ”

” Please don’t be that way, darling. We’ll go
wherever you say. But please find some place to
go right away.”

” Switzerland is down the lake, we can go there.”

” That will be lovely.”

It was clouding over outside and the lake was
darkening.

“ I wish we did not always have to live like
criminals,” I said.

” Darling, don’t be that way. You haven’t lived
like a criminal very long. And we’ll never live like
criminals. We’re going to have a fine time.”

” I feel like a criminal. I’ve deserted from the
army.”

” Darling, please be sensible. It’s not deserting
from the army. It’s only the Italian army.”

I laughed. ” You’re a fine girl. Let’s get back
into bed. I feel fine in bed.”

A little while later Catherine said. "You don’t
feel like a criminal do you ? ”

^ No, ’ I said. " Not when Tm with you.”

You’re such a siUy boy.” she said. "But I’ll
look after you. Isn’t it splendid, darUng, that I
aon t have any morning-sickness ? ”

" It's grand.”

what a fine wife you have.
But 1 don’t care. I’U get you some place

^y __can t arrest you and then we’ll have a lovely

\\ ^§ht away.”

wish^^ place

“ ® about anything.”

AH ngnt.

any time you

219

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

CHAPTER XXXV

Catherine went along the lake to the little hotel to
see Ferguson and I sat in the bar and read the papers.
There were comfortable leather chairs in the bar and
I sat in one of them and read until the barman came
in. The army had not stood at the Tagliamento.
They were falling back to the Piave. I remembered
the Piave. The railroad crossed it near San Dona
going up to the front. It was deep and slow there
and quite narrow. Down below there were mosquito
marshes and canals. There were some lovely villas.
Once, before the war, going up to Cortina
D’Ampezzo I had gone along it for several hours in
the hills. Up there it looked like a trout stream, flow¬
ing swiftly with shallow stretches and pools under
the shadow of the rocks. The road turned off from
it at Cadore. I wondered how the army that was up
there»would come down. The barman came in.

"Count Greffi was asking for you,” he said.

" Who? ”

" Count Greffi. You remember the old man who
was here when you were here before.”

" Is he here ? "

"Yes, he’s here with his niece. I told him you
were here. He wants you to play billiards.

" Where is he ? ”

" He’s taking a walk.”

" How is he ? ”

" He's younger than ever. He drank three
champagne cocktails last night before dinner.”

" How’s his billiard game ? ”

" Good. He beat me. When I told him you were
here he was very pleased. Tliere’s nobody here for

him to play with.” tt u ^

Count Greffi was ninety-four years old. He had

been a contemporary of Meftemich and was an old

mM with white hair and moustache and beautiful

S^ners. He had been in the diplomatic service of

220

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

both Austria and Italy and his birthday parties were
the great social event of Milan. He was living to
be one hundred years old and played a smoothly
fluent game of billiards that contrasted with his own
ninety-four-year-old brittleness. I had met him when
I had been at Stresa once before out of season and
while we played billiards we drank champagne. I
thought it was a splendid custom and he gave me
fifteen points in a hundred and beat me.

" Why didn’t you tell me he was here ? ”

" I forgot it.”

“ Who else is here ? ”

“No one you know. There are only six people
altogether.” ^ ^

“ What are you doing now ? ”

“ Nothing.”

" Come out on fishing.”

” I could come for an hour.”

“ Come on. Bring the trolling line.”

The barman put on a coat and we went out. We
went down and got a boat and I rowed while the
bapian sat m the stem and let out the line with a
spmntr and a heavy sinker on the end to troll for
lake trout. We rowed along the shore, the barman

his hand and giving it occasional
St ^ deserted from the

trees, the

IsL'^ BeUa ^ towed across to

isola Bella and went dose to the walls where the

water deepened sharply, and you saw the rock waU

slanting down in the dear water, and then up

a under

coH suiooth and very

cirl

there'tJ^re btatsT,““‘® island where

;■ Should we gj rST”

“ All right.”

221

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

boat and hooking the spinner on the edge of the gun¬
wale. I stepped out and tied the boat. We went
into a httle cafe, sat at a bare wooden table and
ordered vermouth.

“ Are you tired from rowing ? "

" No.”

” rU row back,” he said.

" I like to row.”

” Maybe if you hold the line it will change the
luck.”

” AU right.”

” Tell me how goes the war.”

” Rotten.”

” I don't have to go. I’m too old, hke Count
Greffi.”

” Maybe you'll have to go yet.”

” Next year they’ll call my class. But I won't go.”

” What will you do ? ”

” Get out of the country. I wouldn’t go to war.
I was at the war once in Abyssinia. Nix. Why do
you go ? ”

“ I don't know. I was a fool.”

” Have another vermouth ? ”

” AU right.”

The barman rowed back. We troUed up the lake
beyond Stresa and then dovm not far from shore. I
held the taut line and felt the faint pulsing of the
spinner revolving while I looked at the dark November
water of the lake and the deserted shore. The bar¬
man rowed with long strokes and on the forward
thrust of the boat the line throbbed. Once I had a
strike : the line hardened suddenly and jerked back, I
puUed and felt the hve weight of the trout and then
the line throbbed again. I had missed him.

" Did he feel big ? ”

“Pretty big.”

“Once when I was out trolling alone I had the
line in my teeth and one struck and nearly took my

mouth out.” , .

“ The best way is to have it over your leg,^ I said.

“ Then you feel it and don't lose your teeth.”

222

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

I put my hand in the water. It was very cold.
We were almost opposite the hotel now.

“I have to go in,” the barman said, “to be there
for eleven o’clock. L’heure du cocktail”

“All right.”

I pulled in the line and wrapped it on a stick
notched at each end. The barman put the boat in a
little slip in the stone wall and locked it with a chain
and padlock.

" Any time you want it,” he said, “ I’ll give you
the key.”

“Thanks.”

We went up to the hotel and into the bar. I did
not want another dnnk so early in the morning so I
went up to our room. The maid had just finished
domg the room and Catherine was not back yet. I
on the bed and tried to keep from thinking.

When Catherine came back it was aU right again.
Ferguson was downstairs, she said. She was coming
to lunch.

“I knew you wouldn't mind,” Catherine said.

No, I said.

“ What’s the matter, darling ? ”

1 don't know."

" I know. You haven’t anything to do. All you
"That’s true.”

I know it must be a dreadful
feehng to have nothmg at all suddenly.”

„„“y hfe used to be full of everything,” I said

wS’‘^ t with me I haven’t a tiling in the

ho'mf ^ for two

noms. fsn t there anythmg you can do ? ”

‘ke barman.”

Wasn t it fun ? ”

“ Yes.”

Th^X ^ f kere.”

mats the way I worked it at the front But

“"}«‘king to do then.” '

qtl^ with his occupation gone,” she teased/i.^

ti

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Othello was a nigger,” I said. "Besides, I'm
not jealous. I’m just so in love with you that there
isn't anything else.”

“ Will you be a good boy and be nice to
Ferguson ? ”

" I'm always nice to Ferguson unless she curses me.”

" Be nice to her. Think how much we have and
she hasn’t anything.”

" I don’t think she wants what we have.”

" You don’t know much, darhng, for such a wise
boy.”

" rU be nice to her.”

" I know you will. You're so sweet.”

“ She won’t stay afterward, will she ? ”

"No. I’ll get rid of her.”

" And then we’ll come up here.”

" Of course. What do you think I want to do ? ”

We went downstairs to have lunch with Ferguson.
She was very impressed by the hotel and the splendour
of the dining-room. We had a good lunch with a
couple of bottles of white capri. Count Greffi came
into the dining-room and bowed to us. His niece, who
looked a little like my grandmother, was with him. I
told Catherine and Ferguson about him and Ferguson
was very impressed. The hotel was very big and
grand and empty but the food was good, the wine
was very pleasant and finally the wine made us all
feel very well. Catherine had no need to feel any
better. She was very happy. Ferguson became
quite cheerful. I felt very well myself. After lunch
Ferguson went back to her hotel. She was going to
lie down for a while after lunch she said.

Along late in the afternoon someone knocked on
our door.

" Who is it ? ”

" The Count Greffi wishes to know if you wll play
billiards with him.”

I looked at my watch ; I had taken it off and it was
under the pillow.

"Do you have to go, darling?” Catherine
whispered.

224

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

/V781L

“ I think I’d better.” The watch said a quarter
past four o’clock. Out loud I said, ” Tell the
Count Greffi I will be in the billiard-room at five

o’clock.”

At a quarter to five I kissed Catherine good-bye and
went into the bathroom to dress. Knotting my tie
and looking in the glass I looked strange to myself
in the civilian clothes. I must remember to buy some
more shirts and socks.

“Will you be away a long time?” Catherine
asked. She looked lovely in the bed. “ Would you
hand me the brush ? ”

I watched her brushing her hair, holding her head
so the weight of her hair all came on one side. It
was dark outside and the light over the head of the
bed shone on her hair and on her neck and shoulders.
I went over and kissed her and held her hand with
the brush and her head sunk back on the pillow. I
kissed her neck and shoulders. I felt faint with
loving her so much.

“ I don't want to go away.”

" I don’t want you to go away.”

“ I won’t go then.”

" Yes. Go. It’s only for a little while and then
you’ll come back.”

“ We’U have dinner up here.”

“ Hurry and come back.”

I found the Count Greffi in the biUiard-room. He
was practising strokes, looking very fragile under
the bght that came down above the billiard table. On
a card table a little way beyond the light was a silver
icmg-bucket with the necks and corks of two cham-
pagne bottles showing above the ice. The Count
Greffi straightened up when I came toward the table
and walked toward me. He put out his hand. ” It is
such a ^eat pleasure that you are here. You were
very land to come to play with me.”

It was very nice of you to ask me.”

Are you quite . weU? They told me you were
wounded on the Isonozo. I hope you are well again.”

I m very well. Have you been well ? "

22S

H

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Oh, I am always weU. But I am getting old. I
detect signs of age now."

" I can’t believe it."

"Yes. Do you want to know one? It is easier
for me to talk Italian. I discipline myself but I find
when I am tired that it is so much easier to talk
Italian. So I know I must be getting old.”

We could talk Itahan. I am a little tired too."

"Oh, but when you are tired it will be easier
for you to talk English."

" American."

\es. American. You will please talk American.
It is a delightful language."

" I hardly ever see Americans."

" You must miss them. One misses one's country¬
men and especially one’s countrywomen. I know that
experience. Should we play or are you too tired ? "

" I’m not really tired. I said that for a joke.
What handicap will you give me ? "

" Have you been playing very much ? ”

" None at aU."

" You play very well. Ten points in a hundred ? ”

" You flatter me."

" Fifteen ? "

" That would be fine but you will beat me."

" Should we play for a stake ? You always wished
to play for a stake."

" I think we’d better.”

" All right. I will give you eighteen points and we
will play for a franc a point."

He played a lovely game of billiards and with the
handicap I was only four ahead at fifty. Count
Greffi pushed a button on the wall to ring for the
barman.

"Open one bottle, please," he said. Then to me,
"We will take a little stimulant." The wine was icy
cold and very dry and good.

" Should we talk Italian ? Would you mind very
much ? It is my great weakness now."

We went on pla5dng, sipping the wine between
shots, speaking in Italian, but talking little, concen-

226

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

trated on the game. Count Greflfi made his one-
hundredth point and with the handicap I was only at
ninety-four. He smiled and patted me on the
shoulder.

" Now we will drink the other bottle and you will
tell me about the war.” He waited for me to sit down.

” About anything else,” I said.

" You don't want to talk about it ? Good. What
have you been reading ? ”

“Nothing,” I said. “ I'm afraid I am very dull.”

" No. But you should read.”

“What is there written in war-time? ”

" There is Le Feu by a Frenchman, Barbusse.
There is Mr. Britling Sees Through It."

" No, he doesn’t.”

“ What ? ”

" He doesn’t see through it. Those books were at
the hospital.”

“Then you have been reading? ”

“ Yes, but nothing any good.”

“ I thought Mr. Britling a very good study of the
English middle-class soul.”

“ I don’t know about the soul.”

“ Poor boy. We none of us know about the soul.
Are you Croyant ? ”

At night.” Count Grefii smiled and turned the
glass with his fingers.

I had expected to become more devout as I grow
older but somehow I haven't,” he said. “ It is a preat
pity.” °

“Would you Uke to live after death?” I asked,
^d instantly felt a fool to mention death. But he
did not mind the word.

“It would depend on the life. This Ufe is very
pleasant. I would like to live forever," he smiled.

I very nearly have.”

We were sitting in the deep leather chairs, the

^ampa^e in the ice-bucket and our glasses on the
table between us.

“ If you ever Hve to be as old as I am you will find
many things strange."

227

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ You never seem old.”

It is the body that is old. Sometimes I am
afraid I \vill break off a finger as one breaks a stick
of chalk. And the spirit is no older and not much
wiser.”

” You are wise.”

"2^2* that is the great falla^, the wisdom of old
I men. ,^hey_do not grow wise . THey ~ w~ care fiJ . ”

” PerTiaps that isYvisdom.”

“ It is a very unattractive wisdom. What do you
value most ? ”

"Someone I love.”

" With me it is the same. That is not wisdom.
Do you value life ? ”

" Yes.”

"So do I. Because it is all I have. And to give
birthday parties,” he laughed. " You are probably
wiser than I am. You do not give birthday parties.”

We both drank the \vine.

" Wliat do you think of the war really ? ” I asked.

" I think it is stupid.”

" Who will win it .? ”

"Italy.”

" Wliy ? ”

" They are a younger nation.”

"Do younger nations always win wars? ”

" Tliey are apt to for a time.”

"Then what happens? ”

" They become older nations.”

" You said you were not wise.”

" Dear boj^ that is not wisdom. That is
cynicism.”

" It sounds very wise to me.”

" It's not particularly. I could quote you the
examples on the other side. But it is not bad. Have
we finished the champagne ? ”

" Almost.”

" Should we drink some more ? Then I must
dress.

" Perhaps we'd better not now.”

" You are sure you don’t want more ? ”

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Yes.” He stood up.

” I hope you will be very fortunate and very happy
and very, very healthy.”

“Thank you. And I hope you will live forever.”

“ Thank you. I have. And if you ever become
devout pray for me if I am dead. I am asking several
of my friends to do that. I had expected to become
devout myself but it has not come.” I thought he
smiled sadly but I could not tell. He was so old
and his face was very wrinkled, so that a smile used
so many lines that all gradations were lost.

“ I might become very devout,” I said. “ Any¬
way, I will pray for you.”

“ I had always expected to become devout. All
my family died very devout. But somehow it does
not come.”

” It's too early.”

“ Maybe it is too late. Perhaps I have outlived my
religious feeling.”

“ My own comes only at night.”

“ Then too you are in love. Do not forget that is
a religious feeUng.”

“ You believe so ? ”

" Of course.” He took a step toward the table.

“ You were very kind to play.”

“ It was a great pleasure.”

“ We mW walk upstairs together.”

CHAPTER XXXVI

*^AT night there was a storm and I woke to hear
the rain lashing tlie window-panes. It was coming
m the open window. Someone had knocked on the
door. I went to the door very softly, not to disturb
^thenne, and opened it. The barman stood there.

overcoat and carried his wet hat.

« ^ speak to you, Tenente ? ”

What s the matter ? ”

It s a very serious matter.”

I looked around. The room was dark. I saw the

229

>

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

water on the floor from the window. " Come in,” 1
said. I took him by the arm into the bathroom ;
locked the door and put on the light. I sat do\vn on
the edge of the bathtub.

” What's the matter, Emilio ? Are you in trouble ? ”
” No. You are, Tenente.”

” Yes ? ”

“ They are going to arrest you in the momine:.”
"Yes?”

" I came to tell you. I was out in the town and
I heard them talking in a caf6.”

" I see.”

He stood there, his coat wet, holding his wet hat
and said nothing.

” Why are they going to arrest me ? ”

" For something about the war.”

” Do you know what ? ”

" No. But I know that they know you were here
before as an ofiicer and now you are here out of
uniform. After this retreat they arrest everybody.”

I thought a minute.

” What time do they come to arrest me ? ”

” In the morning. I don’t know the time.”

” What do you say to do ? ”

He put his hat in the washbowl. It was very wet
and had been dripping on the floor.

” If you have nothing to fear an arrest is nothing.
But it is always bad to be arrested, especially now.”

I “ I don't want to be arrested.”

' " Then go to Switzerland.”
i ” How ? ”

1 " In my boat.”

I "There is a storm,” I said.

" The storm is over. It is rough but you will be
aU right.”

" When should we go ? ”

" Right away. They might come to arrest you
early in the morning.”

" What about our bags ? ”

" Get them packed. Get your lady dressed. I
will take care of them.”

230

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Where will you be ? ”

“ I will wait here. I don’t want anyone to see
me outside in the hall.”

I opened the door, closed it, and went into the
bedroom. Catherine was awake.

” What is it, darling ? ”

” It’s all right, Cat,” I said. " Would you like
to get dressed right away and go in a boat to
Switzerland ? ' ’

” Would you ? ”

" No,” I said. ” I’d like to go back to bed.”

” What is it about ? ”

” The barman says they are going to arrest me in
the morning.”

” Is the barman crazy ? ”

“No.”

“ Then please hurry, darling, and get dressed so
we can start.” She sat up on the side of the bed.
She was still sleepy, “ Is that the barman in the
bathroom ? ”

" Yes.”

“ Then I won't wash. Please look the other way,
darling, and I’ll be dressed in just a minute.”

I saw her white back as she took off her night¬
gown and then I looked away because she wanted me
to. She was beginning to be a little big with the
child and she did not want me to see lier. I dressed
hearing the rain on the windows. I did not have
much to put in my bag.

There’s plenty of room in my bag. Cat, if you
need any.”

" I’m almost packed,” she said. “ Darling, I’m

awfully stupid, but why is the barman in the bath¬
room ? ”

Sh he s waiting to take our bags down.”

“ He’s awfully nice.”

He s an old friend,” I said. “ I nearly sent him
some pipe-tobacco once.”

^ out the open window at the dark night. I

could not see the lake, only the dark and the rain but
the wmd was quieter.

231

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ I’m ready, darling,” Catherine said.

” All right.” I went to the bathroom door. ” Here
are the bags, Emilio,” I said. The barman took the
two bags.

” You’re very good to help us,” Catherine said.

” That's nothing, lady,” the barman said. ” I’m
glad to help you just so I don’t get in trouble myself.
Listen,” he said to me, ” I’ll take these out the
servants’ stairs and to the boat. You just go out as
though you were going for a walk.”

” It’s a lovely night for a walk,” Catherine said.

” It's a bad night all right.”

” I’m glad I've an umbrella,” Catherine said.

We walked down the hall and down the wide
thickly carpeted stairs. At the foot of the stairs by
the door the porter sat behind his desk.

He looked surprised at seeing us.

” You’re not going out, sir? ” he said.

” Yes,” I said. ” We're going to see the storm
along the lake.”

” Haven’t you got an umbrella, sir ? ”

“No,” I said. “This coat sheds water.”

He looked at it doubtfully. “ I'll get you an
umbrella, sir,” he said. He werit away and came
back with a big umbrella. “ It is a little big, sir,”
he said. I gave him a ten-lira note. " Oh, you
are too good, sir. Thank you very much,” he said.
He held the door open and we went out into the rain.
He smiled at Catherine and she smiled at him.
“ Don’t stay out in the storm,” he said. “ You will
get wet, sir and lady.” He was only the second
porter, and his English was still literally translated.

“We’U be back,” I said. We walked down the
path under the giant umbrella and out through the
dark wet gardens to the road and across the road to
the trellised pathway along the lake. The wind was
blo\ving offshore now. It was a cold, wet November
wind and I knew it was snowing in the mountains.
We came along past the chained boats in the slips
along the quay to where the barman’s boat sh^d
be. The water was dark against the stone. The

232

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

barman stepped out from beside the row of
trees.

“ The bags are in the boat,*' he said.

"I want to pay you for the boat,” I said.

“ How much money have you ? ”

” Not so much.”

“ You send me the money later. That will be all
right.”

“ How much ? ”

” What you want.”

” Tell me how much.”

'* If you get through send me five hundred francs. '
You won't mind that if you get through.”

” All right.”

“ Here are sandwiches.” He handed me a pack¬
age. ” Everything there was in the bar. It's all
here. This is a bottle of brandy and a bottle of
wine.” I put them in my bag. ” Let me pay you
for those.”

” All right, give me fifty lire.”

I gave it to him. ” The brandy is goo'd,” he said.
” You don’t need to be afraid to give it to your lady.
She better get in the boat.” He held the boat, it
rising and falling against the stone wall and I helped
Catherine in. She sat in the stem and pulled her
cape around her.

" You know where to go ? ”

” Up the lake.”

" You know how far ? ”

” Past Luino.”

'' Past Luino, Cannero, Cannobio, Tranzano. You
aren t in Switzerland until you come to Brissago.
You have to pass Monte Tamara.”

“ What time is it ? ” Catherine asked.

” It’s only eleven o’clock,” I said.

If you row all the time you ought to be there by
seven o’clock in the morning.”

” Is it that far ? ”

” It’s thirty-five kilometres,”

How should we go ? In this rain we need a
compass.”

233 B*

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" No. Row to Isola Bella. Then on the other
side of Isola Madre go with the wind. The wind will
take you to Pallanza. You will see the lights. Then
go up the shore.”

” Maybe the wind will change.”

“ No,” he said. “ This wind will blow like this
for three days. It comes straight down from the
Motterone. There is a can to bail with.”

” Let me pay you something for the boat now.”

“ No, I’d rather take a chance. If you get through
you pay me all you can.”

“All right.”

” I don’t think you’ll get drowned.”

“ That’s good.”

” Go with the wind up the lake.”

“All right.” I stepped in the boat.

“ Did you leave the money for the hotel ? ”

“ Yes. In an envelope in the room.”

“ All right. Good luck, Tenente.”

“ Good luck. We thank you many times.”

“ You won’t thank me if you get drowned.”

“ What does he say ? ” Catherine asked.

“ He says good luck.”

“ Good luck,” Catherine said. “ Thank you very
much.”

“ Are you ready ? ”

He bent down and shoved us off. I dug at the
water with the oars, then waved one hand. The bar¬
man waved back deprecatingly. I saw the lights of
the hotel and rowed out, rowing straight out until
they were out of sight. There was quite a sea run¬
ning but we were going with the wind.

CHAPTER XXXVII

I ROWED in the dark, keeping the wind in my face.
The rain had stopped and only came occasionally in
gusts. It was very dark, and the wnd was cold. I
could see Catherine in the stem but I could not see
the water where the blades of the oars dipped. The

234

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

oars were long and there were no leathers to keep
them from slipping out. I pulled, raised, leaned for¬
ward, found the water, dipped and pulled, rowing as
easily as I could. I did not feather the oars because
the wind was with us. I knew my hands would
blister and I wanted to delay it as long as I could.
The boat was light and rowed easily. I pulled it
along in the dark water. I could not see, and hoped
we would soon come opposite Pallanza.

We never saw Pallanza. The wind was blowing
up the lake and we passed the point that liides
Pallanza in the dark and never saw the lights. When
we finally saw some lights much farther up the lake
and close to the shore it was Intra. But for a long
time we did not see any lights, nor did we see the
shore but rowed steadily in the dark riding with the
waves. Sometimes I missed the water with the oars
in the dark as a wave lifted the boat. It was quite
rough ; but I kept on rowing, until suddenly we were
close ashore against a point of rock that rose beside
us ; the waves striking against it, rushing high up,
then falling back. I pulled hard on the right oar and
backed water with the other and we went out into the
lake again ; the point was out of sight and we were
going on up the lake.

“ We're across the lake," I said to Catherine.

" Weren’t we going to see Pallanza ? "

" We've missed it."

" How are you, darling ? ”

"I’m fine."

" I could take the oars awhile."

" No, I'm fine.”

" Poor Ferguson," Catherine said. " In the morn-
she’ll come to the hotel and find we’re gone."

"I'm not worrying so much about that," I said,

as about getting into the Swiss part of the lake

s daylight and the custom guards see us."

" Is it a long way ? "

It’s thirty some kilometres from here."

I rowed all night. Finally my hands were so sore

235

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

I could hardly close them over the oars. We were
nearly smashed up on the shore several times. I
kept fairly close to the shore because I was afraid of
getting lost on the lake and losing time. Sometimes
we were so close we could see a row of trees and the
road along the shore with the mountains behind. The
rain stopped and the wind drove the clouds so that
the moon shone through and looking back I could see
the long dark point of Castagnola and the lake with
white-caps and beyond, the moon on the high snow
mountains. Then the clouds came over the moon
again and the mountains and the lake were gone, but
it was much lighter than it had been before and we
could see the shore. I could see it too clearly and
pulled out where they would not see the boat if there
were custom guards along the Pallanza road. When
the moon came out again we could see white villas on
the shore on the slopes of the mountain and the white
road where it showed through the trees. All the
time I was rowing.

The lake widened and across it on the shore at the
foot of the mountains on the other side we saw a few
lights that should be Luino. I saw a wedgelike gap
between the mountains on the other shore and I
thought that must be Luino. If it was we were
making good time. I pulled in the oars and lay
back on the seat. I was very, very tired of rowing.
My arms and shoulders and back ached and my hands

“ I could hold the umbrella,” Catherine said.
“ We could sail with that with the wind.”

” Can you steer ? ”

” I think so.”

” You take this oar and hold it under your arm
close to the side of the boat and steer and 1 11 hold
the umbrella.” I went back to the stem ^d showed
her how to hold the oar. I took the big umbrella
the porter had given me and sat facing the bow and
opened it. It opened with a clap. I held it on both
sides, sitting astride the handle hooked over the seat.
The wind was full in it and I felt the boat suck for-

236

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

ward while I held as hard as I could to the two
edges. It pulled hard. The boat was moving
fast.

" We’re going beautifully," Catherine said. M I
could see was umbrella ribs. The umbrella strained
and pulled and I felt us driving along with it. I
braced my feet and held back on it, then suddenly
it buckled ; I felt a rib snap on my forehead, I tried
to grab the top that was bending with the wind
and the whole thing buckled and went inside out and
1 was astride the handle of an inside-out, ripped
umbrella, where I had been holding a wind-filled pull¬
ing sail. I unhdoked the handle from the seat, laid
the umbrella in the bow and went back to Catherine
for the oar. She was laughing. She took my hand
and kept on laughing.

“ What’s the matter ? " I took the oar.

" You looked so funny holding that thing."

" I suppose so.”

" Don’t be cross, darling. It was awfully funny.
You looked about twenty feet broad and very

affectionate holding the umbrella by the edges - ’’ she

choked.

“ I’ll row."

" Take a rest and a drink. It’s a grand night and
we’ve come a long way."

" I have to keep the boat out of the trough of the
waves."

“ m get you a drink. Then rest a little while,
darling."

I held the oars up and we sailed with them.
Catherine was opening the bag. She handed me the
brandy bottle. I pulled the cork with my pocket-
kmfe and took a long drink. It was smooth and
hot and the heat went all through me and I felt
warmed and cheerful. “ It’s lovely brandy," I said.
The moon was under again but I could see the shore.
There seemed to be another point going out a long
way ahead into the lake.

“ Are you warm enough. Cat ? "

' I’m splendid. I’m a little stiff."

237

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Bail out that water and you can put your feet
down.”

Then I rowed and listened to the rowlocks .and
the dip and scrape of the bailing tun under the stem
seat.

“ Would you give me the bailer ? ” I said. ” I
want a drink.”

" It’s awfully dirty.”

” That's all right. I’ll rinse it.”

I heard Catherine rinsing it over the side. Then
she handed it to me dipped full of water. I was
thirsty after the brandy and the water was icy cold,
so cold it made my teeth ache. I looked towards the
shore. We were closer to the long point. There
were lights in the bay ahead.

"Thanks,” I said, and handed back the tin pail.

" You’re ever so welcome,” Catherine said.
" There's much more if you want it.”

" Don’t you want to eat something ? ”

" No. I’ll be hungry in a little while. We’ll save
it till then.”

" AU right.”

What looked like a point ahead was a long high
headland. I went farther out in the lake to pass it.
The lake was much narrower now. The moon was
out again and the guardie di finanza could have seen
our boat black on the water if they had been watching.

" How are you, Cat ? ” I asked.

" I’m all right. Where are we ? ”

" I don't think we have more than about eight

miles more.”

"That’s a long way to row, you poor sweet.

Aren't you dead ? ” , ,,

" No. I'm all right. My hands are sore, that s all.

We went on up the lake. There was a break in
the mountains on the right bank, a flattening-out
with a low shore line that I thought must be Can-
nobio. I stayed a long way out because it was from
now on that we ran the most danger of meeting a
gnardia. There was a high dome-capped rnountaan
on the other shore away ahead. I was tired. It

238

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

was no great distance to row but when you were out
of condition it had been a long way. I knew I had
to PASS that mountain and go up the lake at least five
miles farther before we would be in Swiss water. The
moon was «dmost down now but before it went down
the sky clouded over again and it was very dark. I
stayed well out in the lake, rowing awhile, then rest¬
ing and holding the oars so that the wind struck the
blades.

“Let me row awhile,” Catherine said.

“ I don’t think you ought to.”

“ Nonsense. It would be good for me. It would
keep me from being too stiff.”

“ I don’t think you should. Cat.”

" Nonsense. Rowing in moderation is very good
for the pregnant lady.”

“ All right, you row a little moderately. I’U go
back, then you come up. Hold on to both gunwales
when you come up.”

I sat in the stem with my coat on and the collar
turned up and watched Catherine row. She rowed
very well but the oars were too long and bothered
her. I opened the bag and ate a couple of sand¬
wiches and took a drink of the brandy. It made
everything much better, and I took another drink.

“TeU me when you’re tired,” I said. Then a

bttle later, Watch out the oar doesn’t pop you in
the tummy.” r r j-

did” — Catherine said between strokes —

hfe might be much simpler.”

I took another drink of the brandy.

“ How are you going ? ”

"AU right.”

"Tell me when you want to stop.”

" AH right.” ^

I took another drink of the brandy, then took hold
of the two gunwales of the boat and moved forward.

No. I m gomg beautifuUy.”

Go on back to the stem. I’ve had a grand rest.”

brandy. I rowed easUy and
steadUy. Then I began to catch crabs and soon I

239

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

was just chopping along with a thin brown taste of
bile from having rowed too hard after the brandy.

“ Give me a drink of water, will you ? ” I said.

“ That’s easy,” Catherine said.

Before daylight it started to drizzle. The wind
was down or we were protected by mountains that
bounded the curve the lake had made. When I knew
daylight was coming I settled down and rowed hard.
I did not know where we were and I wanted to get
into the Swiss part of the lake. Wlien it was begin¬
ning to be dayhght we were quite close to the shore.
I could see the rocky shore and the trees.

” What’s that ? ” Catherine said. I rested on the
oars and listened. It was a motor-boat chugging
out on tlie lake. I pulled close up to the shore and
lay quiet. The chugging came closer ; then we saw
the motor-boat in the rain a little astern of us. There
were four guardie di finanza in the stern, their alpini
hats pulled down, their cape collars turned up and
their carbines slung across their backs. They all
looked sleepy so early in the morning. I could see
the yellow on their hats and the yellow marks on their
cape collars. The motor-boat chugged on and out of
sight in the rain.

I pulled out into the lake. If we were that close to
the order I did not want to be hailed by a sentry along
the road. I stayed out where I could just see the
shore and rowed on for three-quarters of an hour in
the rain. We heard a motor-boat once more but I
kept quiet until the noise of the engine went away
across the lake.

” I think we're in Switzerland, Cat,” I said.

” Really ? ”

“There’s no way to know until we see Swiss
troops.”

" Or the Swiss navy.”

“The Swiss navy’s no joke for us. That l^t
motor-boat we heard was probably the S\viss navy.

“ If we’re in Switzerland let’s have a big breakfast.
They have wonderful rolls and butter and jam in
Switzerland.”

240

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

It was clear daylight now and a fine rain was fall¬
ing. The wind was still blowing outside up the lake
and we could see the tops of the white-caps going
away from us and up the lake. I was sure we were
in Switzerland now. There were many houses back
in the trees from the shore and up the shore a way
was a village with stone houses, some villas on the
hills and a church. I had been looking at the road
that skirted the shore for guards but did not see any.
The road came quite close to the lake now and I saw a
soldier coming out of a caf6 on the road. He wore a
grey-green uniform and a helmet like the Germans.
He had a healthy-looking face and a little toothbrush
moustache. He looked at us.

" Wave to him,” I said to Catherine. She waved
and the soldier smiled embarrassedly and gave a wave
of his hand. I eased up rowing. We were passing
the water-front of the village.

"We must be well inside tlie border,” I said.

” We want to be sure, darling. We don’t want
them to turn us back at the frontier.”

” The frontier is a long way back. I think this is
the customs town. I’m pretty sure it's Brissago.”

Won’t there be Italians there ? There are always
both sides at a customs town.”

“Not in war-time. I don’t tliink they let the
Italians cross the frontier.”

It was a nice-looking little town. There were
many fishing-boats along the quay and nets were
spread on racks. There was a fine November rain fall-
mg but it looked cheerful and clean even with the rain.

Should we land then and have breakfast ? ”

“ AH right.”

I pidled hard on the left oar and came in close, then
straightened out when we were close to the quay and
brought the boat alongside. I pulled in the oars,
took hold of an iron ring, stepped up on the wet stone

^d w^ m Switzerland. I tied the boat and held my
hand down to Catherine.

“(^me on up, Cat. It's a grand feeUng.”

What about the bags ? ”

241

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Leave them in the boat.”

Catherine stepped up and we were in Switzerland
together.

“ What a lovely country,” she said.

" Isn't it grand ? ”

” Let’s go and have breakfast ! ”

" Isn’t it a grand country ? I love the way it feels
'q, under my sho^s.”

^I'm so stiff I can’t feel it very well. But it feels
like a splendid country. Darling, do you realize we’re
here and out of that bloody place? ”

” I do. I really do. I’ve never realized anything
before.”

” Look at the houses. Isn’t this a fine square ?
There’s a place we can get breakfast.”

” Isn’t the rain fine ? They never had rain like
this in Italy. It’s cheerful rain.”

"And we’re here, darling! Do you realize we're
here ? ”

We went inside the cafe and sat do\vn at a clean
wooden table. We were cockeyed excited. A
splendid clean-looking woman with an apron came
and asked us what we wanted.

" Rolls and jam and coffee,” Catherine said.

” I'm sorry, we haven’t any rolls in war-time.”

" Bread then.”

“ I can make you some toast.”

" AU right.”

“I want some eggs fried too.”

" How many eggs for the gentleman ? ”

” Three.”

” Take four, darling.”

'‘•Four eggs.”

The woman went away. I kissed Catherine and
held her hand very tight. We looked at each other
and at the cafd.

” Darling, darling, isn’t it lovely ? ”

” It’s grand,” I said. ,

” I don’t mind there not being rolls,” Cathenne
said. ” I thought about them aU night. But I don t
mind it. I don’t mind it at all.”

( A

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ I suppose pretty soon they will arrest us."

"Never mind, darling. We'll liave breakfast first.
You won’t mind being arrested after breakfast. And
then there's nothing they can do to us. We're
British and American citizens in good standing."

" You have a passport, haven't you ? "

" Of course. Oh let’s not talk about it. Let’s be
happy."

" I couldn’t be any happier," I said. A fat grey
cat with a tail that lifted like a plume crossed the
floor to our table and curved against my leg to purr
each time she rubbed. I reached down and stroked
her. Catherine smiled at me very happily. " Here
comes the coflee,” she said.

They arrested us after breakfast. We took a little
walk through the village, then went down to the quay
to get our bags. A soldier was standing guard over
the boat.

" Is this your boat ? "
" Yes."

" Where do you come from ? "

"Up the lake."

" Then I have to ask you to come with me."

" How about the bags ? ”

" You can carry the bags.”

I earned the bags and Catherine walked beside me
and the soldier walked along behind us to the old
custom-house. In the custom-house a lieutenant,
very thin and military, questioned us.

" What nationality are you ? "

" American and British."

" Let me see your passports."

I gave him mine and Catherine got hers out of her
handbag.

He examined them for a long time.
boat^7 enter Switzerland this way in a

"I am a sportsman," I said. "Rowing is

I always row when I get a

243

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Why do you come here ? ”

“ For the winter sport. We are tourists and we
want to do the winter sport.”

” This is no place for winter sport.”

“ We know it. We want to go where they have
the winter sport.”

” What have you been doing in Italy ? ”

” I have been studying architecture. My cousin
has been studying art.”

” Why do you leave there ? ”

" We want to do the winter sport. With the war
going on you cannot study architecture.”

” You will please stay where you are,” the
lieutenant said. He went back into the building with

■our passports.

” You're splendid, darling,” Catherine said.
" Keep on the same track. You want to do the
wnter sport.”

" Do you know anything about art ? ”

” Rubens,” said Catherine.

“ Large and fat,” I said.

" Titian,” Catherine said.

” Titian-haired,” I said. “ How about Man¬
tegna ? ”

"Don’t ask hard ones,” Catherine said. ”I
know him though very bitter.”

” Very bitter,” I said. ” Lots of nail holes.”

“ You see I'll make you a fine wife,” Catherine
said. ” m be able to talk art with your customers.”

” Here he comes,” I said. The thin lieutenant
came down the length of the custom-house, holding

our passports.

“I will have to send you into Locarno,” he said
” You can get a carriage and a soldier will go in with

^ ■' All right,” I said, " Wliat about the boat ? ”

” The boat is confiscated. What have you in those

bags ? ”

He went all through the two bags and held up^ the
quarter bottle of brandy. ” Would you join me in a
drink ? ” I asked.

244

“ How

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

"No, thajik you.” He straightened up.
much money have you ? ’ ’

" Twenty-five hundred lire.”

He was favourably impressed. ” How much has

your cousin ? ”

Catherine had a little over twelve hundred lire. The
lieutenant was pleased. His attitude toward us be¬
came less haughty.

"If you are going for winter sports,” he said,
“Wengen is the place. My father has a very fine
hotel at Wengen. It is open all the time.”

"That’s splendid,” I said. "Could you give me
the name ? ”

" I will write it on a card.” He handed me the
card very politely.

" The soldier will take you into Locarno. He will
keep your passports. I regret this but it is necessary.

I have good hopes they will give you a visa or a
police permit at Locarno.”

He handed the two passports to the soldier and
carrying the bags we started into the village to order
a carriage. “ Hi,” the lieutenant called to the
soldier. He said something in a German dialect to
him. The soldier slung his rifle on his back and
, picked up the bags.

" It’s a great country,” I said to Catherine.

" It’s so practical.”

" Thank you very much,” I said to the lieutenant.

He waved his hand.

“‘Service I” he said. We followed our guard into
the village.

We drove to Locarno in a carriage with the soldier
sitting on the front seat wth the driver. At Locarno
we did not have a bad time. They questioned us but
they were polite because we had passports and money.

think they believed a word of the story and I
mought it was silly but it was like a law court. You ^ \
^d^ot warit something reasonable, vou wanted some. >1
^ng techmcal and then stick to it without e^Iana- ) I
no^^But we had passports and we would sperid the’*
rtlon^. So they gave ig;^^rovisional visas. At any

^ ■

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

time these visas might be withdrawn. We were to
report to the police wherever we went.

Could we go wherever we wanted ? Yes. Where
did we want to go ?

“ Where do you want to go, Cat ? ”

“ Montreux.”

“ It is a very nice place," the official said. " I
think you will like that place."

" Here at Locarno is a very nice place,” another
official said. " I am sure you would like it here very
much at Locarno. Locarno is a very attractive place."

" We would like some place where there is winter
sport."

" There is no winter sport at Montreux."

" I beg your pardon," the other ofl5cial said. " I
come from Montreux. There is very certainly winter
sport on the Montreux Oberland Bemois railway. It
would be false for you to deny that.”

" I do not deny it. I simply said there is no winter
sport at Montreux."

" I question that." the other ofl&cial said. " I
question that statement."

" I hold to that statement.”

" I question that statement. I myself have luge-ed
into the streets of Montreux. I have done it not once
but several times. Luge-ing is certainly winter
sport."

The other official turned to me.

"Is luge-ing your idea of winter sport, sir? I
tell you you would be very comfortable here in
Locarno. You would find the climate healthy, you
would find the environs attractive. You would like it
very much.”

" The gentleman has expressed a wish to go to
Montreux."

" What is luge-ing ? ” I asked. . t

" You see he has never even heard of luge-ing I

That meant a great deal to the second official. He
was pleased by that.

"Luge-ing,” said the first official, is toboggan¬
ing."

246

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" I beg to differ.” The other official shook his head.

” I must differ again. The toboggan is very different
from the luge. The toboggan is constructed in
Canada of flat laths. The luge is a common sled
with runners. Accuracy means something.”

” Couldn’t we toboggan ? ” I asked.

“Of course you could toboggan,” the first official
said. ” You could toboggan very well. Excellent
Canadian toboggans are sold in Montreux. Ochs
Brothers sell toboggans. They import their own
toboggans.”

The second official turned away. “Tobogganing.”
he said, " requires a special piste. You could not
toboggan into the streets of Montreux. Where are
you stopping here ? ”

“ We don’t know,” I said. “ We just drove in
from Brissago. The carriage is outside.”

“ You make no mistake in going to Montreux,”
the first official said. “ You will find the climate
delightful and beautiful. You will have no distance
to go for winter sport.”

“If you really want winter sport,” the second
official said, “ you will go to the Engadine or to
Murren. I must protest against your being advised
to go to Montreux for the winter sport.”

“ At Les Avants above Montreux there is excellent
winter sport of every sort.” The champion of Mon¬
treux glared at his colleague.

“ Gentlemen,” I said, “ I am afraid we must go.
My cousin is very tired. We will go tentatively to
Montreux.”

“ I congratulate you.” The first official shook my
hand.

“ I believe that you will regret leaving Locarno,”
the second official said. “ At any rate you ^vill
report to the police at Montreux.”

"There will be no unpleasantness with the police,”
the first official assured me. “ You will find all the
inhabitants extremely courteous and friendly.”

“ Thank you both very much,” I said. “ We
appreciate your advice very much.”

247

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Good-bye/' Catherine said. “ Thank you both
very much.”

They bowed us to the door, the champion of
Locarno a little coldly. We went down the steps and
into the carriage.

" My God, darling,” Catherine said. " Couldn't
we have gotten away any sooner ? ” I gave the name
of a hotel one of the officials had recommended to the
driver. He picked up the reins.

" You've forgotten the army,” Catherine said. The
soldier was standing by the carriage. I gave him a
ten-lira note. ” I have no Swiss money yet,” I said.
He thanked me, saluted and went off. The carriage
started and we drove to the hotel.

” How did you happen to pick out Montreux ? ” I
asked Catherine. " Do you really want to go there ? ”

'' It was the first place I could think of,” she said.
" It's not a bad place. We can find some place up in
the mountains.”

” Are you sleepy ? ”

“I’m asleep right now.”

” We’ll get a good sleep. Poor Cat, you had a
long bad night.”

” I had a lovely time,” Catherine said.
” Especially when you sailed with the umbrella.”

” Can you realize we're in Switzerland ? ”

” No, I'm afraid I’ll wake up and it won’t be true.”

” I am too.”

” It is true, isn’t it, darling? I’m not just driving
down to the stazione in Milan to see you off.”

" I hope not.”

” Don’t say that. It frightens me. Maybe that’s

where we're going.”

“I’m so groggy I don’t know,” I said.

" Let me see your hands.”

I put them out. They were both blistered raw.

“ There’s no hole in my side,” I said.

“ Don’t be sacrilegious.”

I felt very tired ond va^e in the head* The
exhilaration was all gone. The carriage was going
along the street.

248

A FAREWELL TO A ll M S

“Poor hands,” Catherine said.

“Don't touch them,” I said. “ By God I don t
know where we are. Where are we going, driver ?
The driver stopped his horse.

“To the Hotel Metropole. Don't you want to go

“ Yes.” I said. “ It’s all right. Cat.”

“It’s all right, darling. Don’t be upset. We’ll
get a good sleep and you won't feel groggy to¬
morrow.”

“ I get pretty groggy,” I said. “Jf’s like a
comic opera to-day. Maybe I’m hungry.”

” You’re just tired, darling. You’ll be fine.” The
carriage puUed up before the hotel. Someone came
out to take our bags.

“ I feel all right,” I said. We were down on the
pavement going into the hotel.

“ I know you’ll be all right. You’re just tired.
You’ve been up a long time.”

" Anyhow we’re here.”

” Yes, we’re really here.”

We followed the boy with the bags into the hotel.

r - I

■ \

. • ■
(

. . \

I I

249

mOK FIVE

rviST''-

CHAPTER XXXVIII

That fall the snow came very late. We lived in a
brown wooden house in the pine trees on the side of
the mountain and at night there was frost so that
there was thin ice over the water in the two pitchers
on the dresser in the morning. Mrs. Guttingen came
into the room early in the morning to shut the
windows and started a fire in the tall porcelain stove.
The pine wood crackled and sparkled and then the
fire roared in the stove and the second time Mrs.
Guttingen came into the room she brought big
chunks of wood for the fire and a pitcher of hot water.
When the room was warm she brought in break¬
fast. Sitting up in bed eating breakfast we could see
the lake and the mountains across the lake on the
French side. There was snow on the tops of the
mountains and the lake was a grey steel-blue.

Outside, in front of the chalet a road went up the
mountain. The wheel-ruts and ridges were iron hard
with the frost, and the road climbed steadily through
the forest and up and around the mountain to where
there were meadows, and barns and cabins in the
meadows at the edge of the woods looking across the
valley. The valley was deep and there was a stream
at the bottom that flowed down into the lake and
when the wind blew across the vaUey you could hear

the stream in the rocks.

Sometimes we went off the road and on a path
through the pine forest. The floor of the forest w^
soft to walk on ; the frost did not harden it as it md
the road. But we did not mind the hardness of the
road because we had nails in the soles and heels of our
boots and the heel nails bit on the frozen ruts and
with nailed boots it was good walking on the road and
invigorating. But it was lovely walking in the woods.

250

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

In front of the house where we lived the mountain
went down steeply to the little plain along the lake
and we sat on the porch of the house in the sun and
saw the \vinding of the.road down the mountain-side
and the terraced vineydrds on the side of the lower
mountain, the vines all dead now for the winter and
the fields divided by stone walls, and below the vine¬
yards the houses of the town on the narrow plain
along the lake shore. There was an island with two
trees on the lake and the trees looked like the double
sails of a fishing-boat. The moxmtains were sharp
and steep on the other side of the lake and down at
the end of the lake was the plain of the Rhone Valley
flat between the two ranges of mountains ; and up
the valley where the mountains cut it off was the
Dent du Midi. It was a high snowy mountain and it
dominated the valley but it was so far away that it
did not make a shadow.

When the sun was bright we ate lunch on the
porch but the rest of the time we ate upstairs in a
small room \vith plain wooden walls and a big stove
in the comer. We bought books and magazines in the
town and a copy of Hoyle and learned many two-handed
card games. The small room with the stove was our
living-room. There were two comfortable chairs and
a table for books and magazines and wc played cards
on the dining-table when it was cleared away. Mr.
and Mrs. Guttingen lived downstairs and we would
hear them talking sometimes in the evening and they
were very happy together too. He had been a head
waiter and she had worked as maid in the same hotel
and they had saved their money to buy this place.
They had a son who was sftidying to be a head waiter.
He was at a hotel in Zurich. Downstairs there was a
parlour where they sold wine and beer, and sometimes
in the evening we would hear carts stop outside on
the road and men come up the steps to go in the
parlour to drink wine.

There was a box of wood in the hall outside the
hying-room and I kept up the fire from it. But we
did not stay up very late. We went to bed in the

251

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

dark in the big bedroom and when I was undressed
I opened the windows and saw the night and the cold
stars and the pine trees below the window and then
got into bed as fast as I could. It was lovely in bed
with the air so cold and clear and the night outside
the window. We slept well and if I woke in the night
I knew it was from only one cause and I would shift
the feather bed over, very softly so that Catherine
would not be wakened, and then go back to sleep
again, warm and with the new lightness of thin
covers. The war seemed far away. But I knew
from the papers that they were still fighting in the
mountains because the snow would not come.

Sometimes we walked down the mountain into
Montreux. There was a path went do^vn the moun¬
tain but it was steep and so usually we took the road
and walked do\\m on the wide hard road between fields
and then below between tlie stone walls of the vine¬
yards and on down between the houses of the villages
along the w^ay. There were three villages, Chcrncx,
Fontanivant, and the other I forget. Then along the
road we passed an old square-built stone chateau
on a ledge on the side of the mountain-side with the
terraced fields of vines, each vine tied to a stick to
hold it up, the vines dry and brow-n and tlie earth
ready for the snow and the lake down below flat and
grey as steel. The road went down a long grade
below the chateau and then turned to the right and
w'ent do\vn very steeply and paved with cobbles, into
Montreux.

We did not know anyone in ]\Iontreux. We walked
along beside the lake and saw the swans and the
many gulls and terns that flew up when you came
close and screamed while they looked down at the
water. Out on the lake there were flocks of grebes,
smaU and dark, and leaving trails in the water when
they sw'am. In the town we walked along the mam
street and looked in the windows of the shops. There
were many big hotels that were closed but most of
the shops were open and the people were very glad

252

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

to see US. There was a fine coiffeur’s place where
Catherine went to have her hair done. The woman
who ran it was very cheerful and the only person we
knew in Montreux. While Catherine was there I
went up to a beer place and drank dark Munich beer
and read the papers. I read the Corriere della Sera
and the Englisli and American papers from Paris.
All the advertisements were blacked out, supposedly
to prevent communication in that way with the enemy.
The papers were bad reading. Everything was going
verj' badly everywhere. I sat back in the corner
with a heavy mug of dark beer and an opened glazed-
paper package of pretzels and ate the pretzels for the
salty flavour and the good way they made the beer taste
and read about disaster. I thought Catherine would
come by but she did not come so I hung the papers
back on the rack, paid for my beer and went up the
street to look for her. The day was cold and dark
and wintry and the stone of the houses looked cold.
Catherine was still in the hairdresser's shop. The
woman was waving her hair. I sat in the little booth
and watched. It was exciting to watch and Catherine
smiled and talked to me and my voice was a little
thick from being excited. Tlie tongs made a pleasant
clicking sound and I could see Catherine in three
mirrors and it was pleasant and warm in tlie booth.
Then the woman put up Catlieriiie’s Iiair, and
Catherine looked in the mirror and changed it a
little, taking out and putting in pins ; then stood up.
“Tm sorry to have taken suph a long time.”

“Monsieur was very interested. Were you not,
monsieur ? ” The woman smiled.

“ Yes,” I said.

We went out and up the street. It was cold and
^try and the wind was blowing. “Oh. darling
I love you so,” I said. ^

‘‘Don’t we have a fine time?” Catherine said.

Look. Let’s go some place and have beer instead
of tea It’s very good for young Catherine. It
keeps her small.”

“Young Catherine,” I said. "That loafer.”

253

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ She's been very good,” Catherine said. " She
makes very little trouble. The doctor says beer will
be good for me and keep her small.”

” If you keep her small enough and she's a boy,
maybe he will be a jockey.”

“ I suppose if we really have this child we ought
to get married,” Catherine said. We were in the
beer place at the comer table. It was getting dark
outside. It was still early but the day was dark and
the dusk was coming early.

” Let’s get married now,” I said.

” No,” Catherine said. ” It’s too embarrassing
now. I show too plainly. I won’t go before any¬
one and be married in this state.”

“ I wish we’d gotten married.”

” I suppose it would have been better. But when
could we, darling ? ”

'* I don’t know.”

” I know one thing. I'm not going to be married
in this splendid matronly state.”

“ You’re not matronly.”

” Oh, yes, I am, darling. The hairdresser asked
me if this was our first. I lied and said no, we had
two boys and two girls.”

“ When will we be married ? ”

“Any time after I’m thin again. Wc want to
have a splendid wedding with every one thinking
what a handsome young couple.”

“ And you’re not worried ? ”

“ Darling, why should I be worried ? The only
time I ever felt badly was when I felt like a whore
in Milan, and that only lasted seven minutes and be¬
sides it was the room furnishings. Don’t I make you
a good wife ? ”

“ You’re a lovely wife.”

“Then don’t be too technical, darling. I’ll marry
you as soon as I'm thin again.”

"All right.” , ^ ,

“Do you think I ought to drink another beer?

The doctor said I was rather narrow in the hips and
it’s all for the best if we keep young Catherine small.

254

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" What else did he say ? ” I was worried.

Nothing. I have a wonderful blood-pressure,
darling. He admired my blood-pressure greatly.”

” What did he say about you being too narrow in
the hips ? ”

” Nothing. Nothing at all. He said I shouldn’t
ski.”

“ Quite right.”

"He said it was too late to start if I’d never done
it before. He said I could ski if I wouldn’t fall
down.”

” He's just a big-hearted joker.”

" Really he was very nice. We’ll have Iiim when
the baby comes.”

" Did you ask him if you ought to get married ? ”

"No. I told him we'd been married four years.
You see, darling, if I mairy you I’ll be an American,
and any time we’re married under American law the
child is legitimate."

“ Where did you find that out ? ”

" In the New York World Alnxanac in the library.”

" You're a grand girl.”

" rU be very glad to be an American and we’ll go
to America, won’t we, darling ? I want to see
Niagara Falls.”

" You’re a fine ^1.”

" There’s something else I want to see but I can’t
remember it.”

" The stockyards ? ”

" No. I can't remember it.”

" The Woolworth building ? ”

" No.”

" The Grand Canyon ? ”

"No. But I’d like to see that.”
" What was it ? ”

'■ what I want to see.

Where is the Golden Gate ? ”

" San Francisco.”

I want to see San Francisco
"All right. We'U go there.

2S5

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“Now let's go up the mountain. Should we?
Can we get the M.O.B. ? ”

“ There’s a train a little after five."

" Let's get that."

" All right, ru drink one more beer first.”

When we went out to go up the street and climb
the stairs to the station it was very cold. A cold
wind was coming dowm the I^one Valley. There
were lights in the shop windows and we climbed the
steep stone stairw'ay to the upper street, then up an¬
other stair to the station. The electric train was
there waiting, all the lights on. There was a dial
that showed when it left. The clock hands pointed to
ten minutes after five. I looked at the station clock.
It was five minutes after. As we got on board I saw
the motorman and conductor coming out of the
station wine-shop. We sat down and opened the
window. The train was electrically heated and stuffy
but fresh cold air came in through the window.

" Are you tired. Cat ? " I ask^.

“No. I feel splendid."

“ It isn't a long ride."

"I like the ride,” she said. “Don’t worry about
me, darling. I feel fine."

Snow did not come until three days before Christ¬
mas. We woke one morning and it was snowing.
We stayed in bed with the ^e roaring in the stove
and watched the snow fall. Mrs. Guttingen took
away the breakfast trays and put more wood in the
stove. It was a big snowstorm. She said it had
started about midnight. I went to the window and
looked out but could not see across the road. It
was blowing and snowing wildly. I went back to
bed, and we lay and talked.

“ I wish I could ski," Catherine said. “ It’s
rotten not to be able to ski."

“ We'U get a bobsled and come down the road.
That's no worse for you than riding in a car.”

“ Won't it be rough ? "

“ We can see."

256

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“I hope it won't be too rough.”

“After a while we’ll take a walk in the snow.”

“ Before lunch,” Catherine said, ” so we’ll have a
good appetite.”

" I’m always hungry.”

“ So am I.”

We went out in the snow but it wets drifted so that
we could not walk far. I went ahead and made a
trail down to the station but when we reached there
we had gone far enough. The snow was blowing so
we could hardly see and we went into the little inn
by the station, and swept each other off with a broom
and sat on a bench and had vermouths.

“It is a big storm,” the barmaid said.

“ Yes.”

" The snow is very late this year.”

" Yes.”

“ Could I eat a chocolate bar ? ” Catherine asked.
“ Or is it too close to lunch ? I'm always hungry.”

” Go on and eat one,” I said.

“ They are very good,” the girl said. ” I like
them the best.”

“ I’ll have another vermouth,” I said.

When we came out to start back up the road our
track was filled in by the snow. There were only
faint indentations where the holes had been. The
snow blew in our faces so we could hardly see. We
brushed off and went in to have lunch. Mr. Guttin-
gen served the lunch.

“ To-morrow there wiU be ski-ing,” he said. “ Do
you ski, Mr. Henry ? ”

” No. But I want to learn.”

‘‘ You wiU learn very easily. My boy will be here for
Chnstm^ 8jid he will te&ch you/^

fine. When does he come ? ”

To-morrow night.”

When we were sitting by the stove in the Uttle
room after lunch looking out the window at the snow
coming down Catherine said, ” Wouldn't you like to

257

1

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ No. Why should I ? "’

" I should think sometimes you would want to see
other people besides me.”

” Do you want to see other people ? ”

” No.”

" Neither do I.”'

” I know. But you’re different. I'm having a
child and that makes me contented not to do any¬
thing. I know I'm awfully stupid now and I talk
too much, and I think you ought to get away so you
won’t be tired of me.”

” Do you want me to go away ? ”

” No. I want you to stay.”

H ” That's what I'm going to do.”

"Come over here,” she said. "I want to feel
the bump on your head. It's a big bump.” She
ran her finger over it. " Darling, would you like to
^ grow a beard ? ”

" Would you like me to ? ”

" It might be fun. I'd like to see you with a
beard.”

" All right. rU grow one. I'll start now, this
minute. It's a good idea. It will give me some¬
thing to do.”

" Are you woiried because you haven't anything
to do ? ”

" No. I like it. I have a fine life. Don't you ? ”

" I have a lovely life. But I was afraid ^cause
I'm big now that maybe I was a bore to you.”

" Oh, Cat. You don't know how crazy I am about

you.”

" This way ? ”

" Just the way you are. I have a fine time. Don t

we have a good life ? ”

" I do, but I thought maybe you were restless.

" No. Sometimes I wonder about the front and
about people I know but I don’t worry. I don t
think about an3rthing much.”

" Who do you wonder about ? ”

" About Rinaldi and the priest and lots of people I
know. But I don't think about them much. I don t

258

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

want to think about the war. I'm through with it.”
“ What are you thinking about now ?

” Nothing.”

” Yes you were. Tell me.”

” I was wondering whether Rinaldi had the
sypliilis.”

■' Was that aU ? ”

” Yes.”

“ Has he the syphilis ? ”

” I don’t know.”

" I’m glad you haven’t. Did you ever have any¬
thing like that ? ”

“I had gonorrhea.”

“ I don’t want to hear about it. Was it very
painful, darling ? ”

” Very.”

” I wish I’d had it.”

" No, you don’t.”

” I do. I wish I'd had it to be like you. I wish
I’d stayed with all your girls so I could make fun of
them to you.”

'* That’s a pretty picture.”

” It's not a pretty picture you having gonorrhea.”

" I know it. Look at it snowing now.”

” I’d rather look at you. Darling, why don’t you
let your hair grow ? ”

” How grow ? ”

” Just grow a little longer.”

“ It's long enough now.”

No, let it grow a little longer and I could cut
mine and we’d be just alike only one of us blonde
and one of us dark.”

" I wouldn't let you cut yours.”

■' It would be fun. I’m tired of it. It’s an awful
nuisance in the bed at night.”

" I Uke it.”

” Wouldn’t you like it short ? ”

” I might. I Uke it the way it is.”

" mght be nice short. Then we’d both be
alike. Oh, darling. I want you so much I want to
be you too.”

2S9

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

You are. We're the same one."

" I know it. At night we are."

*' The nights are grand.”

" I want us to be all mixed up. I don't want you
to go away. I just said that. You go if you want
to. But hurry right back. Why, darling, I don’t
live at all when I'm not with you."

"I won’t ever go away,” I said. "I’m no good
when you’re not there. I haven’t any life at all any
more.”

" I want you to have a life. I want you to have a
fine life. But we’ll have it together, won’t we ? ”

" And now do you want me to stop growing my
beard or let it go on ? ”

" Go on. Grow it. It will be exciting. Maybe it
will be done for New Year’s.”

" Now do you want to play chess ? "

" I’d rather play with you.”

" No. Let’s play chess.”

" And afterward we’ll play ? "

" Yes.”

" AU right.”

I got out the chess-board and airanged the pieces.
It was still snowing hard outside.

One time in the night I woke up and knew that
Catherine was awake too. The moon was shining in
the window and made shadows on the bed from the
bars on the window-panes.

" Are you awake, sweetheart ? ”

" Yes. Can’t you sleep ? ”

" I just woke up thinking about how I was nearly
crazy when I first met you. Do you remember ? ”

" You were just a little crazy.”

" I’m never that way any more. I’m grand now.
You say grand so sweetly. Say grand.”

" Grand.”

"Oh, you’re sweet. And I’m not crazy now. I’m
just very, very, very happy.”

" Go on to sleep,” I said.

" All right. Let’s go to sleep at exactly the same
moment.”

26Q

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“AU right.”

But we did not. I was awake for quite a long
time thinking about things and watching Catherine
sleeping, the moonlight on her face. Then I went to
sleep, too.

CHAPTER XXXIX

By the middle of January I had a beard and the
wn^had. settled into bright cold days and_hard cold j
ni^ts._ We courd”’\vanc' on the roadT" again. The
show was packed hard and smooth by the hay-sleds
and wood-sleds and the logs that were hauled down
the mountain. The snow lay over all the country,
down almost to Montreux. The mountains on the
other side of the lake were all white and the plain of
the -Rhone valley was covered. We took long walks
on the other side of the mountain to the Bains
d’AUiez. Catherine wore hob-nailed boots and a cape
and carried a stick with a sharp steel point. She
did not look big with the cape and we would not
walk too fast but stopped and sat on logs by the
roadside to rest when she was tired.

There was an inn in the trees at the Bains d'Alliez
where the woodcutters stopped to drink, and we sat
inside warmed by the stove and drank hot red wine
with spices and lemon in it. They called it gluhwein
and it was a good thing to warm you and to celebrate
with. The inn was dark and smoky inside and after¬
ward when you went out the cold air came sharply
into your lungs and numbed the edge of your nose as
you inhaled. We looked back at the inn with light
coming from the windows and the woodcutters' horses
stamping and jerking their heads outside to keep
warm. There was frost on the hairs of their
muzzle and their breathing made plumes of frost in
the air. Going up the road toward home the road
was smooth and slippery for a while and the ice
orange from the horses until the wood-hauling track
turned off. Then the made^-was clean-packed snow

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

and led through the woods, and twice coming home
in tlie evening we saw foxes.

It was a fine country and every time that we went
out it was fun.

" You have a splendid beard now," Catherine said.
" It looks just like the Xvoodcutters'. Did you see
the man with the tiny gold earrings ? “

He s a chamois hunter," I said. “They wear
them because they say it makes them hear better.”

Really ? I don't believe it. I think they wear
them to show they are chamois hunters. Are there
chamois near here ? "

" Yes, beyond the Dent du Jaman."

“ It was fun seeing the fox."

“ VVlien he sleeps he wraps that tail around him to
keep warm.”

“ It must be a lovely feeling."

“ I always wanted to have a tail like that.
Wouldn't it be fun if we had brushes like a fox ? ”

“ It might be very difficult dressing."

“ We'd have clothes made, or live in a country
where it wouldn’t make any difference."

“We live in a country where nothing makes any
difference. Isn't it grand how we never see anyone ?
You don't want to see people, do you, darling ? ”

“ No."

“ Should we sit here just a minute ? I'm a little
bit tired."

We sat close together on the logs. Ahead the
road went down through the forest.

“ She won't come between us, will she ? The little
brat."

“ No. We won't let her.”

“ How are we for money ? ”

“ We have plenty. They honoured the last sight
draft."

“ Won’t your family try and get hold of you now
they know you're in Switzerland ? ”

“ Probably. I'll write them something.”

“ Haven't you written them ? "

“ No. Only the sight draft."

262

A

farewell to arms

“ Thank God I'm not your family."

“ rU send them a cable."

" Don't you care anything about them ?

" I did. but we quarreUed so much it wore ilself out.

" I think I'd like them. I’d probably like them

very much.”

" Let's not
about them."

talk about them, or I’ll start to worry
After a while I said, " Let’s go on if

you're rested.”

“ I'm rested." ,

We went on down the road. It was dark now and
the snow squeaked under our boots. The night was

dry and cold and very clear. t..

" I love your beard," Catherine said. It s^ a
great success. It looks so stiff and fierce and it’s
very soft and a great pleasure."

“ Do you like it better than without ? "

"I think so. You know, darling. I’m not going to
cut my hair now until after young Catherine’s born.
I look too big and matronly now. But after she’s
bom and I’m thin again I’m going to cut it and
then rU be a fine, new and different girl for you.
We'll go together and get it cut, or I'll go alone and
come and surprise you."

I did not say anything.

” You won’t say I can't, will you ? "

” No. I think it would be exciting."

" Oh, you’re so sweet. And maybe I'd look
lovely, darling, and be so thin and exciting to you
and you’ll fall in love with me all over again."

” Hell," I said, " I love you enough now. What
do you want to do ? Ruin me ? ”

" Yes. I want to ruin you,"

” Good,” I said, " that’s what I want too."

CHAPTER XL

We had a fine life. We lived through the months
of January and February and the winter was very
fine and we were happy. There had been short

263

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

thaws when the wind blew warm and the snow soft¬
ened and the air felt like spring, but always the clear
hard cold had come again and the winter had returned.
In March came the first break in the winter. In the
night it started raining. It rained on all morning and
turned the snow to slush and made the mountain-side
dismal. There W'ere clouds over the lake and over
the valley. It was raining high up the mountain.
Catherine wore heavy overshoes and I wore Mr.
Guttingen’s rubber-boots and we walked to the station
under an umbrella, through the slush and the running
water that was washing the ice of the roads bare, to
stop at the pub before lunch for a vermouth. Out¬
side we could hear the rain.

“ Do you think we ought to move into town ? ”

“ What do you think ? " Catherine asked.

“ If the winter is over and the rain keeps up it
won’t be fun up here. How long is it before young
Catherine ? "

“ About a month. Perhaps a little more."

“ We might go down and stay in Montreux."

“ Why don't we go to Lausanne ? That’s where
the hospital is,"

" All right. But I thought maybe that was too big
a town."

" We can be as much alone in a bigger town and
Lausanne might be nice.”

" When should we go ? "

" I don’t care. Whenever you want, darling. I
don’t want to leave here if you don’t want."

" Let’s see how the weather turns out.”

It rained for three days. The snow was all gone
now on the mountain-side below the station. The
road was a torrent of muddy snow-water. It was too
wet and slushy to go out. On the morning
of the third day of rain we decided to go dowm
into town.

“That is all right, Mr. Henry," Guttingen said.
“ You do not have to give me any notice. I did not
think you would want to stay now the bad weather is
come."

264

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

"We have to be near the hospital anyway on
account of Madame," I said.

"I understand,” he said. "Will you come back
some time and stay, with the little one ? "

"Yes, if you would have room.”

" In the spring when it is nice you could come and
enjoy it. We could put the little one and tlie nurse in
the big room that is closed now and you and Madame
could have your same room looking out over the lake.”

"I’ll write about coming,” I said. We packed and
left on the train that went down after lunch. Mr. and
Mrs. Guttingen came down to the station with us and
he hauled our baggage down on a sled through the
slush. They stood beside the station in the rain
waving good-bye.

"They were very sweet,” Catherine said.

" They were fine to us.”

We took the train to Lausanne from Montreux.
Looking out the window toward where we had lived
you could not see tlie mountains for the clouds. The
train stopped in Vevey, then went on, passing the
Jake on one side and on the other the wet brown
fields and the bare woods and the wet houses. We
came into Lausanne and went into a medium-sized
hotel to stay. It was still raining as we drove through
the streets and into the carriage entrance of the hotel.
The concierge with brass keys on his lapels, the ele¬
vator, the carpets on the floors and the white wash¬
bowls with shining fixtures, the brass bed and the big
comfortable bedroom all seemed very great luxury
after the Guttingens’. The wndows of the room
looked out on a wet garden with a wall topped by an
iron fence. Across the street, which sloped steeply,
^vas another hotel with a similar wall and garden. I

looked out at the rain falling in the fountain of the
garden.

Catherine turned on all the lights and commenced
x^packing. I ordered a whisky and soda and lay on
the bed and read the papere I had bought at the
stetion. It was March 1918, and the German offen¬
sive had started in France. I drank the whisky and

265 i«

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

soda and read while Catherine unpacked and moved
around the room.

“ You know what I have to get, darling,” she said.
” What ? ”

” Baby clothes. There aren’t many people reach
my time without baby things.”

” You can buy them.”

*' I know. That's what I'll do to-morrow. I'll
find out what is necessary.”

” You ought to know. You were a nurse.”

” But so few of the soldiers had babies in the
hospitals.”

” I did.”

She hit me with the pillow and spilled the whisky
and soda.

” I’ll order you another,” she said. ” I'm sorry
I spilled it.”

” There wasn't much left. Come on over to the bed.”
*' No. I have to try and make this room look like
something.”

" Like what ? ”

” Like our home.”

” Hang out the Allied flags.”

” Oh shut up.”

” Say it again.”

” Shut up.”

“You say it so cautiously,” I said. “As though
you didn’t want to offend anyone.”

“I don’t."

“ Then come over to the bed.”

“All right.” She came and sat on the bed. “I
know I'm no fun for you, darling. I'm like a big
flour-barrel.”

“No you’re not. You'xe beautiful and you re

sweet.” ,

“ I’m just something very ungainly that you ve

married.”

“ No you’re not. You’re more beautiful all the
time.”

" But I will be thin again, darling.”

“You’re thin now.”

266

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

"You’ve been drinking."

"Just whisky and soda.”

"There's another one coming." she said. "And
then should we order dinner up licre ? "

"That will be good.”

"Then we won’t go out, will we? We’ll just stay
in to-night."

"And play," I said.

“ I'll drink some wine,” Catherine said. " It
won't hurt me. Maybe we can get some of our old
white capri.”

" I know we can," I said. " They’ll have Italian
wines at a hotel this size."

The waiter knocked at the door. He brought the
whisky in a glass with ice and beside tlie glass on
a tray a small bottle of soda.

"Thank you," I said. "Put it down there. Will
you please have dinner for two brought up here and
two bottles of dry white capri in ice."

" Do you wsh to commence your dinner with soup ? "

" Do you want soup, Cat ? "

"Please.”

" Bring soup for one."

" Thank you, sir." He went out and shut the
door. I went back to the papers and the war in the
papers, and poured the soda slowly over the ice into
^e whisky. I would have to tell them not to put ice
in the whisky. Let them bring the ice separately.
That way you could tell how much whisky there was
and it would not suddenly be too thin from the soda.
I would get a bottle of whisky and have them bring
ice and soda. That was the sensible way. Good
whisky was very pleasant. It was one of the pleasant
parts of life.

" What are you thinking, darling ? "

" About whisky."

" What about whisky ? "

" About how nice it is."

Catherine made a face. " All right," she said.

We stayed at the hotel three weeks. It was not

267

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

bad ; the dining-room was usually empty and very
often we ate in our room at night. We walked in the
town and took the cogwheel railway down to Ouchy
and walked beside the lake. The weather became
quite warm and it was like spring. We wished we were
back in the mountains but the spring weather lasted
only a few days and then the cold rawness of the
breaking up of winter came again.

Catherine bought the things she needed for the
baby up in the town. I went to a gymnasium in the
arcade to box for exercise. I usually went up there
in the morning while Catherine stayed late in bed. On
the days of false spring it was very nice, after boxing
and taking a shower, to walk along the streets smell¬
ing the spring in the air and stop at a cafe to sit and
watch the people and read the paper and drink a
vermouth ; then go down to the hotel and have lunch
with Catherine. The professor at the boxing gym¬
nasium wore moustaches and was very precise and
jerky and went all to pieces if you started after him.
But it was pleasant in the gym. There was good air
and light and I worked quite hard, skipping rope,
shadow-boxing, doing abdominal exercises lying on
the floor in a patch of sunlight that came through the
open window, and occasionally scaring the professor
when we boxed. I could not shadow-box in front of
the narrow long mirror at first because it looked so
strange to see a man with a beard boxing. But
finally I just thought it was funny. I wanted to take
off the beard as soon as I started boxing but Catherine
did not want me to.

Sometimes Catherine and I went for rides out in
the country in a carriage. It was nice to ride when
the days were pleasant and we found two good places
where we could ride out to eat. Catherine could not
walk very far now and I loved to ride out along the
country roads with her. When there was a good day
we had a splendid time and we never had a bad
time. We knew the baby was very close now and
it gave us both a feeling as though something were
hurrying us and we could not lose any time together.

268

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

CHAPTER XLI

One morning I awoke about three o clock hearing
Catherine stirring in the bed.

“ Are you all right, Cat ? ”

“ I’ve been having some pains, darling."

" Regularly ? "

“ No. not very."

" If you have them at all regularly we’ll go to the
hospital."

I was very sleepy and went back to sleep. A little
while later I woke again.

" Maybe you’d better call up the doctor,” Catherine
said. " I think maybe this is it."

I went to the phone and called the doctor. *' How
often are the pains coming ? " he asked.

" How often are they coming, Cat ? "

" I should think every quarter of an hour.”

"You should go to the hospital then,” the doctor
said. ” I will dress and go there right away my¬
self.”

I hung up and called the garage near the station
to send up a taxi. No one answered the phone for a
long time. Then I finally got a man who promised
to send up a taxi at once. Catherine was dressing.
Her bag was all packed with the tilings she would
need at the hospital and the baby things. Outside in
the hall I rang for the elevator. There was no
answer. I went downstairs. There was no one
downstairs except the night-watchman. I brought
the elevator up myself, put Catherine's bag in it. she
stepped in and we went down. The night-watchman
opened the door for us and we sat outside on the
stone slabs beside the stairs down to the driveway
and waited for the taxi. The night was clear and
the stars were out. Catherine was very excited.

I'm so glad it's started,” she said. Now in a
little while it will be all over.”

“ You’re a good brave girl.”

269

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ I'm not afraid. I wish the taxi would come,
though.”

We heard it coming up the street and saw its
headlights. It turned into the driveway and I helped
Catherine in and the driver put the bag up in front.

” Drive to the hospital,” I said.

We went out of
hill.

the driveway and started up the

At the hospital we went in and I carried the bag.
There was a woman at the desk who wrote dowm
Catherine's name, age, address, relatives and
religion, in a book. She said she had no religion
and the woman drew a line in the space after that
word. She gave her name as Catherine Henry.

” I will take you up to your room,” she said. We
went up in an elevator. The woman stopped it and
we stepped out and followed her down a hall.
Catherine held tight to my arm.

“This is the room,” the woman said. “Will you
please undress and get into bed ? Here is a night¬
gown for you to wear.”

“ I have a nightgo\vn,’' Catherine said.

“ It is better for you to wear this nightgown,” the
woman said.

I went outside and sat on a chair in the hallway.

“You can come in now,” the woman said from
the doorway. Catherine was lying in the narrow bed
wearing a plain, square-cut nightgowm that looked as
though it were made of rough sheeting. She smiled

at me.

“ I’m having fine pains now,” she said. The
woman was holding her wrist and timing the pains
with a watch.

“ That was a big one,” Catherine said. I saw it
on her face.

“ Wliere’s the doctor? ” I asked the woman.

“ He’s lying down sleeping. He will be here when
he is needed.”

“ I must do something for Madame now,” the
nurse said. “ Would you please step out again ? ”

I went out into the hall. It was a bare hall with

270

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

two windows and closed doors all down the corridor
It smeUed of hospital. I sat on the chair and looked
at the floor and prayed for Cathenne. _

“ You can come in.*’ the nurse said. I went in.

“Hello, darling,” Catherine said.

“How is it?” TT f

“ They are coming quite often now. tier lace

drew up. Then she smUed.

“ That was a real one. Do you want to put your

hand on my back again, nurse ?

“If it helps you,” the nurse said.

“ You go away, darling,” Catherine said. ” Go
out and get something to eat. I may do this for a

long time the nurse says.”

“ The first labour is usually protracted,” the nurse

said.

“Please go out and get something to eat,
Catherine said. ” Tm fine, really.”

“ ril stay awhile,” I said.

The pains came quite regularly, then slackened off.
Catherine was very excited. When the pains were
bad she called them good ones. When they started
to fall off she was disappointed and ashamed.

“ You go out, darling,” she said. ” I think you
are just making me self-conscious.” Her face tied up.
“There. That was better. I so want to be a good
wife and have this child without any foolishness.
Please go and get some breakfast, darling, and then
come back. I won’t miss you. Nurse is splendid
to me.”

“ You have plenty of time for breakfast,” the
nurse said.

“ rU go then. Good-bye, sweet.”

“ Good-bye,” Catherine said, ” and have a fine
breakfast for me too.”

” Where can I get breakfast ? ” I asked the nurse.
“There’s a caf6 down the street at the square,”
she said. “ It should be open now.”

Outside it was getting light. I walked down the
empty street to the caf6. There was a light in the
window. I went in and stood at the zinc bar and an

271

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Old man served me a glass of white wine and a
bnoche. ^ The brioche was yesterday's. I dipped it
in the wine and then drank a glass of coffee.

yi^at do you do at this hour ? " the old man asked.
My wife is in labour at the hospital."

" So. I wish you good luck."

*' Give me another glass of wine."

He poured it from the bottle slopping it over a
little so some ran down on the zinc. I drank this
glass, paid and went out. Outside along the street
were the refuse cans from the houses waiting for the
collector. A dog was nosing at one of the cans.

" What do you want ? " I asked, and looked in the
can to see if there was anything I could pull out
for him ; there was nothing on top but coffee grounds,
dust and some dead flowers.

" There isn't anything, dog," I said. The dog
crossed the street. I went up the stairs in the
hospital to the floor Catherine was on and down the
hall to her room. I knocked on the door. There
was no answer. I opened the door ; the room was
empty, except for Catherine's bag on a chair and her
dressing-gown hanging on a hook on the wail. I
went out and down the hall, looking for somebody. I
found a nurse.

" Wliere is Madame Henry ? ”

" A lady has just gone to the delivery room."

" Where is it ? "

" I will show you."

She took me down to the end of the hall. The door
of the room was partly open. I could see Catherine
lying on a table covered by a sheet. The nurse was
on one side and the doctor stood on the other side
of the table beside some cylinders. The doctor held
a rubber mask attached to a tube in one hand.

" I will give you a gown and you can go in," the
nurse said. "Come in here, please."

She put a white gown on me and pinned it at the
neck in back with a safety-pin.

"Now you can go in," she said. I went into the
room.

272

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Hello, darling,” Catherine said in a strained
voice. ” I'm not doing much.”

” You are Mr. Henry ? ” the doctor asked.

" Yes. How is everything going, doctor ? ”

” Things are going very well,” the doctor said.
” We came in here where it is easy to give gas for
the pains.”

” I want it now,” Catherine said. The doctor
placed the rubber mask over her face and turned a
dial and I watched Catherine breathing deeply and
rapidly. Then she pushed the mask away. The doctor
shut off the petcock.

” That wasn't a very big one. I had a very big
one a while ago. The doctor made me go clear out,
didn't you, doctor ? ” Her voice was strange. It rose
on the word doctor.

The doctor smiled.

” I want it again,” Catherine said. She held
the rubber tight to her face and breathed fast. I
heard her moaning a little. Then she pulled the
mask away and smiled.

" That was a big one,” she said. " That was a
very big one. Don’t you worry, darling. You go
away. Go have another breakfast.”

” I’ll stay,” I said.

We had gone to the hospital about three o’clock in
the^ morning. At noon Catherine was still in the
delivery room. The pains had slackened again. She

looked very tired and worn now but she was still
cheerful.

** I'm not any good, darling," she said. ” I’m so
I thought I would do it very easily. Now —
there s one she reached out her hand for the mask
and held it over her face. The doctor moved the dial
and watched her. In a little while it was over.

It wasn’t much,” Catherine said. She smiled.

Sas. It's wonderful.”

o We 11 get some for the home,” I said.

There one comes” Catherine said quickly. The
doctor turned the dial and looked at his watch.

273

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ What is the interval now ? ” I asked.

“ About a minute.”

” Don’t you want lunch ? ”

” I will have something pretty soon,” he said.

” You must have something to eat, doctor,”
Catherine said. ” I'm sorry I go on so long.
Couldn't my husband give me the gas ? ”

“If you wish,” the doctor said. “You turn it
to the numeral two.”

“ I see,” I said. There was a marker on a dial
that turned with a handle.

“/ want it now," Catherine said. She held the
mask tight to her face. I turned the dial to number
two and when Catherine put down the mask I turned
it off. It was very good of the doctor to let me do
something.

“Did you do it, darling?” Catherine asked. She
stroked my wrist.

"Sure.”

“ You're so lovely.” She was a little drunk from
the gas.

“ I will eat from a tray in the next room,” the
doctor said. “ You can caU me any moment.” While
the time passed I watched him eat, then, after a
while, I saw that he was lying down and smoking a
cigarette. Catherine was getting very tired.

“ Do you think I’ll ever have this baby ? ” she asked.

“ Yes, of course you will.”

“ I try as hard as I can. I push down but it goes
away. There it comes. Give it to me."

At two o'clock I went out and had lunch. There
were a few men in the caf^ sitting with coffee and
glasses of kirsch or marc on the tables. I sat down
at a table. “Can I eat?” I asked the waiter.

“ It is past time for lunch.”

“Isn’t there anything for all hours? ”

“ You can have ckoacroute.”

“Give me choucroute and beer.”

“ A demi or a bock ? ”

“A light demi.”

The waiter brought a dish of sauerkraut with a

274

A FAKE WELL TO ARMS

slice of ham over the top and a sausage buried in the
hot wine-soaked cabbage. I ate it and drank the beer.

I was very hungry. I watched the people at the
tables in the cafe. At one table tliey were playing
cards. Two men at the table nc.xt me were talking
and smoking. The cafe was full of smoke. The
zinc bar, where I had breakfasted, had tliree people
behind it now ; the old man, a plump woman in a
black dress who sat behind a counter and kept track
of everything served to the tables, and a boy in an
apron. I wondered how many children the woman
had and what it had been like.

When I was through with the choucroute I went
back to the hospital. The street was all clean now.
There were no refuse cans out. The day was
cloudy but the sun was trying to come through. I
rode upstairs in the elevator, stepped out and went
do^vn the hall to Catherine's room, where I had left
my white gown. I put it on and pinned it in back
at the neck. I looked in the glass and saw myself
looking like a fake doctor with a beard. I went
doNvn the hall to the delivery room. The door was
closed and I knocked. No one answered so I turned
the handle and went in. The doctor sat by
Catherine. The nurse was doing something at the
other end of the room.

“Here is your husband,” the doctor said.

“Oh, darling, I have the most wonderful doctor,”
Catherine said in a very strange voice. “ He's been
telling me the most wonderful story and when the
pain came too badly he put me all the way out. He’s
wonderful. You're wonderful, doctor.”

“ You’re drunk,” I said.

“ I know it,” Catherine said. “ But you
sho^dn’t say it.” Then “ Give it to me. Give it to
She clutched hold of the mask and breathed
short and deep, pantingly, making the respirator
click. Then she gave a long sigh and the doctor
reached with his left hand and lifted away the mask.

^ That was a very big one,” Catherine said. Her
voice was very strange. “ I'm not going to die now,

275

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

darling. I'm past where I was going to die.
Aren’t you glad ? "

“Don't you get in that place again.''

“ I won't. I'm not afraid of it though. I won’t
die, darling.”

“ You will not do any such foolishness,” the doctor
said. “ You would not die and leave your husband.”

“ Oh, no. I won’t die. I wouldn't die. It's silly
to die. There it comes. Give it to me”

After a while the doctor said, “ You will go out,
Mr. Henry, for a few moments and I will make an
examination.”

“ He wants to see how I am doing,” Catherine
said. “ You can come back afterward, darling, can't
he, doctor ? ”

“Yes,” said the doctor. “I will send word when
he can come back.”

I went out the door and down the hall to the
room where Catherine was to be after the baby came.
I sat in a chair there and looked at the room. I had
the paper in my coat that I had bought when I went
out for lunch and I read it. It was beginning to be
dark outside and I turned the light on to
read. After a while I stopped reading and turned off
the light and watched it get dark outside. I wondered
why the doctor did not send for me. Maybe it was
better I was away. He probably wanted me away
for a wliile. I looked at my watch. If ‘he did not
send for me in ten minutes I would go down anyway.

Poor, poor dear Cat. And this was the price you
paid for sleeping together. This was the end of the
trap. This was what people got for loving each
other. Thank God for gas, anyway. What must it
have been like before there were aniesthetics ? Once
it started they were in the mill-race. Catherine had a
good time in the time of pregnancy. It wasn’t bad.
She was hardly ever sick. She was not awfully
uncomfortable until toward the last. So now they
got her in the end. You never got away with any¬
thing. Get away hell I It would have been the
same if we had been married fifty times. And what if

276

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

she should die ? She won’t die. People don’t die in
childbirth nowadays. That was what all husbands
thought. Yes, but what if she should die } She
won’t die. She’s just having a bad time. The initial
labour is usually protracted. She’s only having a
bad time. Aftenvard we'd say what a bad time, and
Catherine would say it wasn’t really so bad. But
what if she should die ? She can't die. Yes, but
what if she should die ? She can’t, I tell you. Don't

be a fool. It's just a bad time. It’s just nature

giving her hell. It's only the first labour, wliich is
almost always protracted. Yes, but what if she
should die ? She can't die. Why would she die ?
What reason is there for her to die ? There’s just a
chiW that has to be bom, the by-product of pnnH
nights in MiJan. it_ makes trouble and is born and
thefi you loolT after it and get fond of it maybe. But
what if she should die ? She won’t die. But what
if she should die? She won’t. She's all right. But
what if she should die ? She can’t die. But what if

she should die ? Hey, what about that ? What if

she should die ?

The doctor came into the room.

" How does it go, doctor ? ”

*' It doesn't go,” he said.

” What do you mean ? ”

Just that. I made an examination

. V * - - - ^ oai ilia null He

detailed the result of the examination. "Since then
Ive waited to see. But it doesn’t go.”

^ What do you advise ? ”

Either a high forceps
dehvery which can tear and be quite dangerous besid^
being poMibly bad for the chUd, and a Cffisarean."

she Sd’die r ^ ^ “

Would you do it yourself ? ”

thinZ^* i wo^d need possibly an hour to get
things ready and to eet r ... _ u

277

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ What do you think ? ”

" I would advise a Cassarean operation. If it were
my wife I would do a Cesarean."

“ What are the after effects ? "

“There are none. There is only the scar.”

“ What about infection ? “

“ The danger is not so great as in a high forceps
delivery.”

“ What if you just went on and did nothing ? ”

“ You would have to do something eventually.
Mrs. Henry is already losing much of her strength.
The sooner we operate now the safer.”

“ Operate as soon as you can,” I said.

“ I will go and give the instructions.”

I went into the delivery room. The nurse was
with Catherine who lay on the table, big under the
sheet, looking very pale and tired.

“ Did you tell him he could do it ? ” she asked.

“ Yes.”

“ Isn't that grand ? Now it will be all over in an
hour. I’m almost done, darling. I'm going all to
pieces. Please give me that. It doesn’t work. Oh,
it doesn't work / ”

“Breathe deeply.”

“ I am. Oh, it doesn’t work any more. It
doesn’t work 1 ”

“ Get another cylinder,” I said to the nurse.

. “ That is a new cylinder.”

“ I'm just a fool, darling,” Catherine said. “ But
it doesn’t work any more.” She began to cry.

“ Oh, I wanted so to have this baby and not make
trouble, and now I'm all done and all gone to pieces
and it doesn’t work. Oh, darling, it doesn't work at
all, I don’t care if I die if it Wl only stop. Oh,
please, darling, please make it stop. There it comes.
Oh, Oh, Oh I ” She breathed sobbingly in the
mask.

“ It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t
work. Don’t mind me, darling. Please don’t cry.
Don’t mind me. I’m just gone all to pieces. You
poor sweet. I love you so and I’ll be good again.

278

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

I’ll be good this time. Can't they give me some¬
thing? If they could only give me something.”

” I’ll make it work. I’ll turn it all the way.”

” Give it to me now.”

I turned the dial all the way and as she breathed
hard and deep her hand relaxed on tlie mask. I shut
off the gas and lifted the mask. Slie came back from
a long way away.

" That was lovely, darling. Oh, you’re so good to
me.”

You be brave, because I can’t do that all the
time. It might kill you.”

” I'm not brave any more, darling. I’m all

broken. They’ve broken me. I know it now.”

"Everybody is that way.”

"But it's awful. They just keep it up till they

break you.” > r f y

" In an hour it will be over.”
j p ^ Darling, I won't die, will

" No. I promise you won’t.”

Because I don’t want to die and leave you, but I
get so tired of it and I feel I’m going to die.”

" Nonsense. Everybody feels that.”

" Sometimes I know I’m going to die.”

' You won’t. You can’t.”

"But what if I should ? ”

'' I won’t let you.”

“Give it to me quick. Give it to me I ”

seff effe ^

“ Of course you won’t.”

" You’ll stay with me ? ”

“ Not to watch it.”

“ No, just to be there.”

u all the time.”

You’re so good to me. There, give it to me
Give me some more. It's not working/ ”

the ^

rnimK k ^ was afraid of the

numbers above two.

279

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

Finally a new doctor came in with two nurses and
they lifted Catherine on to a wheeled stretcher and
we started down the hall. The stretcher went
rapidly down the hall and into the elevator where
everyone had to crowd against the wall to make
room ; then up, then an open door and out of the
elevator and down the hall on rubber wheels to the
operating room. I did not recognize the doctor with
his cap and mask on. There was another doctor and
more nurses.

“ They've got to give me something,” Catherine
said. “ They've got to give me something. Oh,
please, doctor, give me enough to do some good ! ”

One of the doctors put a mask over her face and
I looked through the door and saw the bright small
amphitheatre of the operating room.

" You can go in the other door and sit up there.”
a nurse said to me. There were benches behind a
rail that looked dowm on the white table and the
lights. I looked at Catherine. The mask was over
her face and she was quiet now. They wheeled the
stretcher forward. I turned away and walked down
the hall. Two nurses were hurrying toward the
entrance to the gallery.

“It’s a Cassarean,” one said. “They’re going to
do a Caesarean.”

The other one laughed. “ We’re just in time.
Aren’t we lucky ? ” They went in the door that led
to the gallery.

Another nurse came along. She was hurrying too.

“ You go right in there. Go right in,” she said.

“ I’m staying outside.”

She hurried in. I walked up and down the hall. I
was afraid to go in. I looked out the window. It
was dark but in the light from the \vindow I could
see it was raining. I went into a room at the far
end of the hall and looked at the labels on bottles
in a glass case. Then I came out and stood in the
empty hall and watched the door of the operating room.

A doctor came out followed by a nurse. He held
something iii his two hands that looked like a freshly

280

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

skinned rabbit and hurried across the corridor with
it and in through anotlier door. I went down to the
door he had gone into and found them in the room
doing things to a new-born child. The doctor lield
him up for me to see. He held him by the heels and
slapped him.

" Is he all right ? ”

“He's magnificent. He’ll weigh five kilos.”

I had no feeling for him. He did not seem to have
anything to do with me. I felt no feeling of fatlier-
hood.

“Aren’t you proud of your son ? ” the nurse asked.
They were washing him and wrapping him in some¬
thing. I saw the little dark face and dark hand, but
I did not see him move or hear liim cry. The doctor
was doing something to him again. He looked upset.

“No,” I said. “He nearly killed Ins mother.”

“ It isn't the little darling’s fault. Didn’t you want
a boy ? ”

“No,” I said. The doctor was busy with
him. He held him up by tlie feet and slapped
him. I did not wait to see it. I went out
in the hall. I could go in now and see. I went in
the door and a little way down the gallery. The
nurses who were sitting at the rail motioned for me
to come where they were. I shook my licad. I
could see enough where I was.

I thought Catherine was dead. She looked dead.
Her face was grey, the part of it that I could see.
Down below, under the light, the doctor was sewing
up the great long, forcep-spread. thick-edged wound.
Another doctor in a mask gave an anaesthetic. Two
nursM in masks handed things. It looked like a
dravmg of the Inquisition. I knew as I watched I
could have watched it all, but I was glad I didn’t. I
do not think I could have watched them cut, but I
watched the wound dosed into a high welted ridge
with quick skilful-looking stitches like a cobbler’s and
glad. When the wound was closed I went out
mto the hall and walked up and down again. After
a wmle the doctor came out,

281

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ How is she ? "

" She is all right. Did you watch ? ”

He looked tired.

“ I saw you sew up. The incision looked very
long.”

” You thought so ? ”

“ Yes. Will that scar flatten out ? ”

“ Oh yes.”

After a while they brought out the wheeled
stretcher and took it very rapidly down the hallway
to the elevator. I went along beside it. Catherine
was moaning. Downstairs they put her in the bed
in her room. I sat in a chair at the foot of the bed.
There was a nurse in the room. I got up and stood
by the bed. It was dark in the room. Catherine put
out her hand. “Hello, darling,” she said. Her
voice was very weak and tired.

“ Hello, you sweet.”

“ What sort of baby was it ? ”

“ Sh — don’t talk,” the nurse said.

“ A boy. He’s long and wide and dark.”

“Is he all right ? ”

“Yes.” I said. “He’s fine.”

I saw the nurse look at me strangely.

“I'm awfully tired,” Catherine said. “And I
hurt like hell. Are you all right, darling ? ”

“ I’m fine. Don’t talk.”

“ You were lovely to me. Oh, darling, I hurt
dreadfully. What does he look like ? ”

“ He looks like a skinned rabbit with a puckered-up
old-man's face.”

“You must go out,” the nurse said. “Madame
Henry must not talk.”

“ I’ll be outside,” I said.

“ Go and get something to eat.”

“No. I’ll be outside.” I kissed Catherine. She
was very grey and weak and tired.

“ May I speak to you ? ” I said to the nurse. She
came out in the hall with me. I walked a little way

down the hall. , ^ „ t i j

“What’s the matter with the baby? I asked.

282

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ Don’t you know ? "

"No.”

" He wasn't alive.”

" He was dead ? ”

" They couldn’t start liim breathing. The cord
was caught around liis neck or something.”

" So he’s dead.”

" Yes. It’s such a shame. He was such a fine
big boy. I thought you knew.”

"No,” I said. "You better go back in with
Madame.”

I sat down on the chair in front of a table where
there were nurses' reports hung on clips at the side
and looked out of the window. I could see nothing
but the dark and the rain falling across the light

from the window. So that was it. The baby was

dead. That was why the doctor looked so tired.

But why had they acted the way they did in the room
with him ? They supposed he would come around
and start breathing probably. I had no religion but
I knew he ought to have been baptized. But what if
he never breathed at all. He hadn’t. He had never
been alive. Except in Catherine. I’d felt him kick
there often enough. But I hadn’t for a week. May¬
be he was choked all the time. Poor little kid. I
^hed the hell I’d been choked like that. No I
(hdn t. Still there would not be all this dying to go
through. Now Catherine would die. That was what
you did. You died. You did not know wliat it was
about. You never had time to learn. They threw
you in and told you tlie rules and the first time they
wught you off base they killed you gratuitously like
Aymo. Or gave you the syphilis like Rinaldi. But
they killed you in the end. You could count on that,
btay around and they would kill you.

Once in camp I put a log on top of the fire and it
was full of ants. As it commenced to burn, the ants
sw^ed out and went first towards the centre where

A turned back and ran toward the

end. Wlien there were enough on the end they fell
on into the fire. Some got out, their bodies burnt

283

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

and flattened, and went off not knowing where they
were going. But most of them went toward the fire
and then back toward the end and swarmed on the
cool end and finally fell off into the fire. I remember
thinking at the time that it was the end of the world
and a splendid chance to be a messiah and lift the
log off the fire and throw it out where the ants could
get off on to the ground. But I did not do anything
but throw a tin cup of water on the log, so that I
would have the cup empty to put whisky in before I
added water to it. I think the cup of water on the
burning log only steamed the ants.

So now I sat out in the hall and waited to hear how
Catherine was. The nurse did not come out, so after
a while I went to the door and opened it very softly
and looked in. I could not see at first because there
was a bright light in the hall and it was dark in the
room. Then I saw the nurse sitting by the bed and
Catherine's head on a pillow, and she all flat under
the sheet. The nurse put her finger to her lips, then
stood up and came to the door.

“ How is she ? " I asked.

“ She’s all right,” the nurse said. ” You should
go and have your supper and then come back if you
wish.”

I went down the hall and then down the stairs and
out the door of the hospital and down the dark street
in the rain to the caf6. It was brightly lighted inside
and there were many people at the tables. I did not
see a place to sit, and a waiter came up to me and
took my wet coat and hat and showed me a place at
a table across from an elderly man who was drink¬
ing beer and reading the evening paper. I sat
down and asked the waiter what the plat du jour
was.

“ Veal stew — but it is finished.”

” Wliat can I have to eat ? ”

” Ham and eggs, eggs with cheese, or choucrouU.”

“I had choucroute this noon,” I said.

“That’s true,” he said. “That’s tnie. You ate
choucroute this noon.” He was a middle-aged man

284

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

with a bald top to his head and his hair slicked over
it. He had a kind face.

" What do you want ? Ham and eggs or eggs
with cheese ? ”

"Ham and eggs,’’ I said, "and beer."

" A demi-blonde ? "

"Yes," I said.

" I remembered," he said. " You took a demi-
blonde this noon."

I ate the ham and eggs and drank the beer. The
ham and eggs were in a round dish — the ham under¬
neath and the eggs on top. It was very hot and at
the first mouthful I had to take a drink of beer to

cool my mouth. I was hungry and I asked the waiter
for another order. I drank several glasses of beer.
I was not thinking at all but read the paper of tlie
man opposite me. It was about the break through
on the British front. \\Tien he realized I was read¬
ing the back of his paper he folded it over. I thought
of asking the waiter for a paper, but I could not con¬
centrate. It was hot in the caf^ and the air was bad.
Many of the people at the tables knew one another.
Thpe were several card games going on. The
waiters were busy bringing drinks from the bar to
the tables. Two men came in and could find no place
to sit. They stood opposite the table where I was.
I ordered another beer. I was not ready to leave yet.
It was too soon to go back to the hospital. I tried
not to think and to. be perfectly calm. The men
stood around but no one was leaving, so they went
out. I drank another beer. There was quite a pile
of saucers now on the table in front of me. The man
opposite me had taken off his spectacles, put them
away m a case, folded his paper and put it in his
pocket and now sat holding his liqueur glass and
looking out at the room. Suddenly I knew I had to
get back. I called the waiter, paid the reckoning,
got mto my coat, put on my hat and started
out the door. I walked through the rain up to the
hospital. ^

Upstairs I met the nurse coming down the hall.

285

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

I just caUed you at the hotel/' she said. Some¬
thing dropped inside me.

“ What is wrong ? ”

“ Mrs. Henry has had a hemorrhage."

" Can I go in ? "

" No, not yet. The doctor is with her."

" Is it dangerous } "

" It is very dangerous.” The nurse went into the
room and shut the door. I sat outside in the hall.
Everything was gone inside of me. I did not think.
I could not think. I knew she was going to die and
I prayed that she would not. Don't let her die. Oh.
God, please don't let her die. I’ll do anything for
you if you won’t let her die. Please, please, please,
dear God, don't let her die. Dear God, don’t let her
die. Please, please, please don’t let her die. God,
please make her not die. You took the baby
but don’t let her die — that was all right but
don't let her die. Please, please, dear God, don’t
let her die.

The nurse opened the door and motioned with her
finger for me to come. I followed her into the room.
Catherine did not look up when I came in. I went
over to the side of the bed. The doctor was standing
by the bed on the opposite side. Catherine looked at
me and smiled. I bent down over the bed and started
to cry.

” Poor darling,” Catherine said very softly. She
looked grey.

“You’re all right. Cat,” I said. “You’re going
to be all right.”

“ I’m going to die,” she said ; then waited and
said, “ I hate it.”

I took her hand.

“Don’t touch me,” she said. I let go of her
hand. She smiled. “ Poor darling. You touch me
all you want.”

“ You’ll be all right. Cat. I know you’ll be all
right.”

“ I meant to write you a letter to have if anything
happened, but I didn't do it.”

286

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

" Do you want me to get a priest or anyone to

come and see you." . ,, t.

"Just you,” she said. Then a little later,

not afraid. I iust hate_it,”

" Vou must not talk so much,” the doctor said.

" All right,” Catherine said.

" Do you want me to do anything, Cat ? Can I
get you anything ? ”

Catherine smUed. " No.” Then a little later,

" You won’t do our things with another girl, or say
the same things, will you ? ”

" Never.”

" I want you to have girls, though.”

" I don’t want them.”

" You are talking too much,” the doctor said.
” You cannot talk. Mr. Henry must go out. He
can come back again later. You are not going to
die. You must not be silly.”

" All right,” Catherine said. " I’ll come and
stay with you nights,” she said. It was very hard
for her to talk.

"Please go out of the room,” the doctor said.
Catherine winked at me, her face grey. ” I'll be
right outside,” I said.

"Don’t worry, darling,” Catherine said. "I'm
not a bit afraid. It's just a dirty trick.”

"You dear, brave sweet.”

I waited outside in the hall. I waited a long time.
The nurse came to the door and came over to me.
" I'm afraid Mrs. Henry is very ill,” she said. " I’m
afraid for her.”

" Is she dead ? ”

" No, but she is unconscious.”

It seems she had one hsemorrhage after another.
They couldn t stop it. I went into the room and
stayed with Catherine until she died. She was
unconscious all the time, and it did not take her very
long to die.

Outride the room in the hall I spoke to the doctor.
Is there anything I can dp to-night ? ”

A FAREWELL TO ARMS

“ No. There is nothing to do. Can I take you
to your hotel ? ”

" No, thank you. I am going to stay here a
while."

" I know there is nothing to say. I cannot tell
you - "

"No," I said. "There’s nothing to say.”

"Good night,” he said. "I cannot take you to
your hotel ? "

“ No thank you.”

"It was the only thing to do,” he said. "The
operation proved - ”

“ I do not want to talk about it," I said.

" I would like to take you to your hotel."

" No thank you.”

He went down the hall. I went to the door of the
room.

" You can’t come in now," one of the nurses said.

" Yes. I can," I said.

"You can't come in yet.”

" You get out,” I said. " The other one too.”

But after I had got them out and shut the door
and turned off the light it wasn't any good. It was
like saying good-bye to a statue. After a while I
went out and left the hospital and walked back to
the hotel in the rain.

THE END

S /

Tm-qi H4SF

“ This book was taken from the Library
on the date last stamped A fine of
^ anna will be charged for each day
the book is kept over due.

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